Morning Toast Grid

I climbed onto the wooden breakfast counter where morning light was cutting across the butcher block. Beside a porcelain plate sat a small stainless steel butter knife and a fresh rectangular slice of toasted sourdough. Someone had left a pat of cold butter perched awkwardly on one corner. I gripped the cool knife handle with both hands, planted my feet firmly, and pressed the flat blade down. With steady, deliberate strokes, I spread the butter evenly from edge to edge until the warm toast formed a clean, uniform rectangle of pale gold. The counter felt properly balanced for the start of the day.