After Auschwitz, even writing a poem is barbaric.
——Theodor Adorno
"August, you look good, so does that mean your mission in Munich was successful? Did you gather the information you wanted?"
In the small private room of the Gottingen Town Hall's underground cellar, Arthur raised his beer glass and gently clinked it with Schneider's.
Schneider took a gulp of beer, then meticulously cut into the pork knuckle on his plate with a knife and fork, lifting a thick, fatty piece into his mouth.
You could tell just by watching him eat that this capable officer from the Foreign Office was quite hungry.
Schneider ate several chunks of pork knuckle in a row, then wiped his greasy lips with a napkin before speaking: "I did gather quite a bit of information, but it's not necessarily what Viscount Palmerston wants."
