No fir

Christmas itself was probably not much more than a series of witticisms on the way I believe Santa Claus and Jesus Christ ought to be merged in one single Christmas entity, for after all both of them have beards and thinking of it, it’s gotta be a little confusing for the kids.
My father thought about it for a moment then said he’d read somewhere about the origins of Santa Claus; “Coca-Cola and Norman Rockwell, buddy” I said with a smile then sort of tried to convince my grandmothers what’s really celebrated on Christmas is Santa’s birthday, not Jesus’s. One of them believed.
We strive for the survival of the faith, we really do.

But all in all I’m a little pissed off because I get to design a stratagem that is quasi-military in its precision: Leave my parents’ place early on Sunday and get on that bus, go home, call this girl, see, and go out to dinner regardless of half the city being shut down for the accursed Holiday; my meal is even paid up by her and I’m thinking “Dude you’re so gonna rock tonight” but to no avail: Despite taking this girl back to my place absolutely nothing happens and I’m pretty much left in the lurch afterwards wondering what the hell’s gone wrong.
It was supposed to be the last f**** of the year, y’know…


Peter Gabriel plays on, however, and I fetch a nearby Superman paperback.
Christmas fades to black.