At half past nine, the signboard outside Tsuta no Ie stops humming and begins to glow. I watched Master Senda polish the counter with a folded cotton cloth, moving around the cup rings as if they were part of the map. The last customer had left a pencil note beside the sugar jar: stronger tomorrow, please.
Wood keeps better time than clocks
The room has no radio after dark. There is only the kettle, the click of a lighter, and the old wall paneling answering each change in weather. Senda said that was how a room learned the names of its regulars.