"Do not be a pawn... in the stories..."
The St.Nicholas day high has subsided, the days of indulging in gifted sweets finally over. Today, what I fish out of the tin can is the last remnant of the golden days: the disfigured gingerbread effigy of St.Nicholas himself. It smells a bit weird, though: did the bakers put too much hornsalt in the dough?
Could it be...? Mr.Sacks, at his limits













