December is around the corner and the German Markets have long been open in the city centre. Bratwurst is piled high in the market stalls where keepers keep warm with their hands over grills, their mitts folded over their hands, exposing their figer tips like sausages hanging out the end of a bun.
My mouth waters, but my mind wanders to my upcoming holiday in Munich where I'll be meeting casey. It wanders long enough to hold me from buying a pretzel or a slice of marzipan. I'm saving my appetite for the real thing.
