General Bloch threw his head back and laughed - it was unfettered, infectious. Szara joined in, was unable to stop. People at other tables turned to look at them, smiling nervously, a little frightened to be trapped in a tiny Polish restaurant with a pair of madmen. Neither of them could have explained it. They had, somehow, in this strange, hidden, broken building, caught the tail of absurdity, and the thrash of it made them laugh. "God forgive me," Bloch said, wiping his eyes with his hand, "for enjoying such a life as much as I do."
(Yeah, yeah, the usual frothings of adoration. Seriously though, if you ever want to just surrender yourself to a master of atmosphere [specifically, that of interwar/WWII Europe*], check him out.)
* Can you miss someplace you've never been, someone you've never been?
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