Eggs with a side of sass — Just days after her world changed — though maybe right now she doesn’t know it — the T.V. howls at first light, a man in black suit — more fitted for boardroom banter than news narration, I think — recites the latest chapter in this never-ending tragedy. I can’t — no, won’t — listen, so instead, I watch her carelessly stab at her plate, yellow-eyed breakfast staring back from melamine, two more yolk and albumen splattering in the pan behind me.