"Merry Christmas," Santa spat, wiping grease from his beard.
In the shadows of the wine cellar, a man in a soot-stained red suit groaned, leaning against a rack of overpriced Chardonnay. This wasn't the Christmas Santa Claus—the real Santa Claus—had envisioned. He was tired. He was disillusioned. He was nursing a gut wound and wondering when children stopped wishing for wooden trains and started wishing for cold hard cash. Noche sin paz (2022)
Santa looked up, his eyes glowing with an ancient, magical hearth-light. "I'm not a myth, kid. I'm the consequence." "Merry Christmas," Santa spat, wiping grease from his beard
As the sun began to peek over the horizon, the authorities swarmed the estate. Santa sat on the roof, his suit more crimson than ever. He looked at his list. Most of the names in that house were staying on the Naughty List forever, but Trudy... Trudy got a miracle. He was tired