We only have so many days of life, Byerly. Only so many cups of coffee we will drink—and then it is over. Nothing but Fade juice. Every bad cup of coffee takes the place of a good one.

But—

[ His puffed-up offense deflates a touch. ]

—there are also only so many days we can sit there, [ with a gesture to a small mountain of crates, three deep and unattended, high enough that they can lord over the passers by in the street but hopefully not so high as to trigger anyone’s acrophobia, ] and watch Kirkwall’s harbor over breakfast.

If you can stand to do that to your poor tongue.