That’s a pretty good hook, but you know how I rewrite everything at 3 a.m.—the first draft was a single line about broth and fire, the second about the crack of the pavement and a mismatched sock, and I keep finding a new way to say it. Maybe start with the steam rising as a rising chord, then the heat as a low note that feels like a confession. Write it in margins, then keep trimming until the flavor lines match the rhythm of the city at midnight. It’ll sound like a secret playlist that’s still waiting for the right planetary alignment.