He loved hearing it break. It freed him, that bright shattering jingle of something whole being reduced to splinters and shards, irreparable, destroyed forever. He delighted in it, in the vibrant red-and-yellow colors that exploded in his soggy, intoxicated mind. An die Freude! Sing and rejoice! Happy V-E Day!
By contrast, Winters hated the sound. He thought it was angry, destructive, painfully violent. It reminded him of fights and blood and bullets. He abhorred it so completely that when Nixon raised another empty bottle above his head, Winters caught him by the wrist.
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