Krassavitseh

At dusk they were delivered by a silent Jurgen in a polished Jaguar to the five-star luxury Brandenburger Hof at Eislebener Strasse 14. It was not so much this hotel’s location—near the Tiergarten and the Berlin University of the Arts—as it was its “exceptional service and taste” that had led the tour company to recommend it and then, on his approval, to reserve a Double Comfort City room with twin beds and a sitting area, at Euro 265 plus VAT. As soon as they were ensconced and organized—the geriatric toiletries arrayed by the bathroom sink—his father took hold of the remote control and tuned in CNN International. “Close enough,” his father remarked, and fluffed his pillow. “I know this person—Amanpour.” Then: “This is what the krauts call sports? Nothing. I didn’t get the scores.”

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