Chapter 4. Loved by the Führer himself.
It was slushing. Formless pieces of half-melted ice fell onto the asphalt together with cold water, and left rings and spots after themselves. Little Hitlerjugend soldiers sped up all together and rushed to their warm homes, but suddenly one of them let his badge fall into a puddle. He came closer to the pot-hole, probably made by an overweight general with hundreds of medals, and a blank but heavy reflection of a large truck on the moist road stopped him. The shadow belonged to a dark Hummer H2 giant.
"Losing this," said the H2 hoarsely, giving the badge to the inattentive boy. "Equals losing your honor."
The boy stood still, the astonishment either of the Hummer's Nordic stateliness, or of the thought of losing his face for the state together with a small piece of metal.
"Thank you," whispered the boy. "I wish I could kiss your tire but you are not a lady."
The Hummer squinted.
"You should be careful with such expressions," grunted