The American fellows playing poker at the café table next to mine at the Munich airport were way too loud. I had to change tables. The fellow in the toilet booth next to mine used way too much toilet paper. The paper reel kept spinning furiously next to my ear. Somehow I was sure the fellow was American, too. No matter how unfair, the inference gave me a sort of pleasure. It is time to start pitying the poor bastards. Who will love them ever again?