Hans cursed his luck. He worked for the biggest art dealer in Berlin, and how on earth had he gotten this awful assignment?
"I'm telling you, Franz, there's no justice. I annoy that fat hausfrau stuffing her face with liverwurst and I get stuck promoting this loser!"
"Could be worse, Hans. You don't have to be in the glorious capital of Greater Germany, you know. It took us a long while to finagle our way into this account. You could be in one of those awful General Government settlements. You could be one of those poor shitters in Russia shoveling radioactive rubble."
Hans sighed into his spaetzle. "Do you always have to mention the war?"
Franz shrugged. "It could have gone a lot worse."
Hans nodded. "Yes, of course. Everyone argued about the morality of dropping the bomb on Moscow, but ultimately it saved lots of lives when England surrendered without a fight. Even the Americans are afraid of us now."
Franz snapped his fingers. "And that, my friend, is a testament to the superiority of German culture. What other country could have won the atomic race the way we did?"
"Not many. But look at all the trouble we got into."
"You're soft, Hans. Germany is the richest and most prosperous nation in Europe, instead of being France's toilet. We've finally gotten back at them over that idiotic war."
"Nationalism doesn't pay my bills, Franz. I'm happy for the Fatherland but it's not as if that's going to move my merchandise."
"Now look, Hans. All you have to do is tell him to shut up a little and things will blow over. His landscapes are gorgeous."
"Yes, but you know how unpopular my client is with our audience! One offhand remark from Chancellor Rathenau on the nightly news and my whole account is ruined!"
"Look, Hans, nobody would know his political views if he wasn't always spouting off about them. It's not as if he were in politics. Do you think anyone would care, honestly? They still listen to Wagner."
"Yes, but Wagner is a genius! Do you know how hard it is to sell a Hitler painting around here?"