He missed the... subtleties. That's what they would call it in his choice land. The little things. He remembered when he was a little boy in Berlin. The parties would be held deep underground where the lager was being aged. The adults socializing drinking beer and even them, the young, a pint and no more. He smiled at that. They would act so silly, running around the underground beer garden. Playing. Having a merry time with their peers, other children.
And he missed those days. He remembering his Father and GrandFather laboring over the beer! Not like that now! Commercialized...his new country would call it. Yes, definitely commercialized!
No heart and soul to be seen in the craft
Any longer, as he stared out over an American football field it seemed, filled with endless huge metal beer vats....
(Peace! More to come...)
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