My old pay that I never talk to since 2016 and when HRC lost, thinks people like you are now aiding & abetting & accessory to rebellion. I bad person now and I'm sure they soon look to find my arm to shoot me. I leave soon for the great outdoors wat fly. You did everything "they" asked and their still giving you a hard time for associating with folks like me and or even defending my Nuremberg right to say no for any reason that I don't consent to. "They" are forcing you and the kids to wear a mask after two jabbs and test for the flu every week. Question bro. When will this end and when will someone like me be loved and cherished on this planet?
The following few paragraphs are from pages 142-143 of Amor Towles’s marvelous 2016 novel,
A Gentleman in Moscow; the setting is one of Moscow’s finest hotels in 1924 (ellipses original):
Having followed Andrey across the dining room, through the kitchen, and down a long, winding stair, the Count found himself in a place that even Nina had never been: the wine cellar of the Metropol.With its archways of brick and its cool, dark climate, the Metropol’s wine cellar recalled the somber beauty of a catacomb. Only, instead of sarcophagi bearing the likeness of saints, receding into the far reaches of the chamber were rows of racks laden with bottles of wine. Here was assembled a staggering collection of Cabernets and Chardonnays, Rieslings and Syrahs, ports and Madeira – a century of vintages from across the continent of Europe.
All told, there were almost ten thousand cases. More than a hundred thousand bottles. And every one of them without a label.
“What has happened!” gasped the Count.
Andrey nodded in grim acknowledgement.
“A complaint was filed with comrade Todorov, the Commissar of Food, claiming the existence of our wine list runs counter to the ideals of the Revolution. That it is a monument to the privilege of the nobility, the effeteness of the intelligentsia, and the predatory pricing of speculators.”
“But that’s preposterous.”
For the second time in an hour, the unshrugging Andrey shrugged.
“A meeting was held, a vote was taken, an order was handed down…. Henceforth, the Boyarsky shall sell only red and white wine with every bottle at a single price.”
With a hand that was never meant to serve such a purpose, Andrey gestured to the corner, where beside five barrels of water a confusion of labels lay on the floor. “It took men ten days to complete the task,” he said sadly.
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