Reaches for the milk.

A basement room in Finsbury Park, a woman places water on a ring in a pot.

And the ring reddens, hot.

And bubbles form in an office in Farringdon, the switch flicked by Jessica.

And it boils and steam climbs the window in the kitchenette (really more of a glorified recess) in the studio in Kingston.

And Stewart waits dutifully for the terminal click.

Lifts.

Pours.

Gazes at the traffic on Fulham Broadway.

And as Petra’s gaze is arrested by a woman on the street below, tripping as she crosses the junction at Kew Green, she overfills the cup.

It flows onto the counter, eagerly.

And she swears.

Stewart pushes a spoon against the tea bag.

Strains.

Reaches for the milk.

Jessica slugs milk generously.

And bubbles are slowly forming in Finsbury Park, as the red ring tries its hardest.

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