It rained at night. The front of the fog, wrapping itself in torn gray braids and covering the grass with a new layer of water beads, cheerfully crept over the ground itself. The brisk autumn sun tried conscientiously, but the morning chills, driven by a gusty, twisted breeze, still struggled with the emerging day. The central support of the customs separator, now turned into a makeshift flagpole, buzzed with a drunken organ with all its pipes; heavy flags, wet flapping fringed edges, again clashed hand-to-hand...