Cup of Ceylon tea with a dash of milk. Two mini Kit Kats. Breakfast of those unwilling to face the morning cold head on.

Snoozing my six forty five a.m. alarm that I have no business setting if I’m crawling into bed at half past midnight.

A dream that slips by my sleep weakened fingers. The snap of a drowsy face with a matching coffee mug to send to my siblings before shuffling into the shower to stand in atonement for ten minutes as the steam scoured all laggard remains from my movements.

The slowest of mornings as the taxi rumbles down the construction pinched road to the southern tip of the island.