Explore "Frigid Fracas" by Mack Reynolds on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was a free evening for Joe, but one that Nadine had found necessary to devote to her medical duties. Max had been gushing about a cabaret in Buda, a place named the Bécsikapu where the wine flowed as wine can flow only in the Balkans and where the gypsy music was as only gypsy music can be. Max had developed a tolerance for wine after only two or three attempts at what they locally called Sot and which he didn't consider exactly beer.
Joe said, only half interested, "For proletarians, Party members, or what?"