Would you stay and muse a while? My friend is here, asleep, slouched, thick arms curled around a bottle. His mustache twitches like some monstrously beautiful caterpillar, crawling toward the light of an old lamp I stole from an Austrian. Shh, I will set down my bottle delicately, so as not to disturb him. Ah, sleep on, my old grenadier: a deep dreamless slumber bereft of Germans, I hope: For the greatest defeats occur daily within our bosom, and we must spike our strength with what amusement we can find.