Want some?”“No thanks.”“You sure?” she asked, carrying the makings to the counter.“Uh-huh.”I didn’t like her sandwiches. Rory regarded...mayonnaise as a food group; the main ingredient carried by bread and ham. I watched her slather it on both slices of bread, then lick the knife clean. Ham, tomato, and lettuce were casually tossed on the bread, the sandwich closed, cut in half, and she took a big bite.“Mmmm.” She looked at me and held the sandwich out. “Wanna try?”“No.”“Your loss.”Her tongue. I huddled in my warm little hotel room thinking of frozen corpses stacked like cordwood in a deserted forest. The images of the Holocaust haunted my reverie like ghosts of Christmas past. I had to get away from the makeshift newsroom and decided to go to one of the few remaining Cabarets in a bad part of the city seldom visited by officialdom.The place was murky and dark.The darkness was a blessing in disguise because it helped to soften the harsh patterns of disrepair and the rotting fabric in. More

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