One week later, in Washington D.C., golden morning light spilled through the dining room windows.
James Lee sat in a spacious, classically furnished breakfast room, sharing a meal with his wife, Deirdre.
A lifelong D.C. local with traditional tastes, James preferred a rich, heavy breakfast. Today was no different: steaming lamb stew seasoned with chili oil, garlic, and tahini, alongside piping-hot pork-filled buns.
He polished off two buns quickly, then reached for a third, biting into it with satisfaction. But halfway through, he paused.
"This feels greasier than usual," he grumbled, setting down his spoon. "You sure this is from our usual place?"
"Same place," Deirdre replied calmly, sliding over a cup of reddish tea. "I've told you a dozen times—your age isn't exactly made for spicy, fatty breakfasts. Drink some fruit tea to cut the grease."
James took a sip. The warm, tangy-sweet flavor caught him off guard. It was fragrant and soothing.
