Apparently the holidays are here. We're wandering down Schoenhauser Allee, dodging rain puddles, when suddenly we're dazzled by our local mall that appears to be on fire. Not a wall's left that isn't covered with holiday lights; there are shooting stars on the hardware store, and the bakery's got St. Nick cookies, and probably even gluhwein to go with.
"Egads," I say, overhearing a chorus of what seems to be hundreds near the post office, belting out some cheery tune. "I'd thought we'd avoid this crap here in Deutschland."
Not so, says John. "I don't know if we can avoid Christmas, but I'm sure we're going to be Weihnacht'd up the ass."
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"...he dwelt as it were, in a tent in this world, and was either threading the valleys or crossing the plains or climbing the mountain tops..."
peasant glasses. no stems. solid sides and a tough bottom. drink up.