E.M. Forster writes in “Aspects of the Novel”: “They hunger for each other, as we do in life, but our equally constant longing for breakfast and lunch does not get reflected [in novels].”

I’m not sure if my longing for breakfast is constant, but longing for the neighbor is probably more interesting than longing for lunch.

Or am I mistaken?

More than a decade ago I went to Las Vegas to visit a friend, a professional poker player. At least that’s what he claimed to be. “In this hotel they serve breakfast 24 hours a day," he said.

Perhaps he would make an interesting character in a novella. A man who gave up on women, a man who says: “It’s all about breakfast now.”