I had one of those steel thermal mugs you carried everywhere with you as a kind of signifier of how busy, and therefore how important you were.
And meanwhile all the gentry behind the Count pour To the inn. There Gerwazy recalled days of old, From three kontuszes Warden for three broad belts called, On these up from the vaults three big barrels appear: One of vodka, of mead one, the third full of beer. Removed the spigots, three streams gushed, gurgled and sped, One gold, one white like silver, and cornelian red The third; with triple rainbow they sparkle and sing, Into hundred mugs gush, in umpteen glasses ring.
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