It was one of those quiet mornings when the sun shone through the fine curtains of my study and the smell of freshly brewed Darjeeling mingled with that of newspaper ink - a smell that always reminds me of the orderly times when paper was still considered the carrier of thought and not the packaging for bananas.
As usual, I had neatly arranged my breakfast: two slices of gray bread, butter in a geometric arrangement, and a boiled egg with the familiar crack that always appears in the same place - a mystery that even progress cannot explain.



