Dreams...He stirred his cup of earl grey early in the morning when the steam had stiffened and turned to clouds, then leaving his mug. He heard an aeroplane, and, sure enough,--most certainly--there was one, tiny and absolutely significant, leaving his cup. It seemed the cup was no place for clouds or a very small plane to be. He didn't want to drink it anymore, and instead insisted upon slurping a morning cup of joe. It burned his tongue.