Kane was a religious man. He was devout. He followed the dictates of his church with a consummate amount of exactitude. He allowed himself one ever-so-slightly sinful lapse. It happened each year on Ash Wednesday.
Ash Wednesday was the beginning of Lent and a day of prayer and fasting. No meat on Ash Wednesday. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. It was a reminder of death, and the fleetingness of life. For breakfast each morning throughout the year, Kane would have a cup of coffee and a slice of toast with a tiny spread of marmalade. Ash Wednesday was different. It was, as has been said, a day of prayer and fasting.
Kane would rise on Ash Wednesday morning and cut two thick slices of bread. He would toast them and cover them with lashings of butter. He would fry up four rashes of bacon and three eggs. He would throw in a hash brown or two and a handful of little breakfast sausages. Then squirting a generous portion of tomato ketchup over everything, he would sit down for his Ash Wednesday breakfast feast.
It was the only big breakfast he had all year. The fact that it was a day of prayer and fasting made it ever so much tastier, ever so much more scrumptiously enjoyable. Yummy! Kane, you little devil you!