The onions went onto the grill. The aroma was irresistible.
The chef laughed, snapped his tongs together.
They bantered with the first wave of weekend renovators, started spruiking.
The sizzling sausages became a siren song to those navigating the unfathomable aisles of painting and papering.
Buns were handed over, spilling onions and dripping sauce.
Mid-morning, a Kindergarten mother arrived, offering to cook.
The tongs snapped in answer.
She wiped down sauce bottles, cleared the breadcrumbs, made cheerful small talk about the weather.
Squared away the money.