A Christmas Wish
On a Sunday it is pleasant to wander the Flohmarkt, especially now the Christmas lights are out. I picked up a faded daguerrotype. It was of the old Meyerplatz, from before the War. A bright spring morning, draymen loading their horse-drawn carts, and in the middle, a young man striding assuredly across the square, a bundle under his arm.
“What do you wish, sir?” asked the stallholder.
The carts rattled and jingled; one of the new trams slowly drew into the square. And in the fresh spring air, I strode briskly on to my bachelor lodgings, with bread fresh from the baker’s.