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It’s always November when Manny starts decorating the shop for Christmas.Sometimes it’s even earlier, like the middle of October, but either way, the point still stands. It’s too early, in Bernard’s opinion. He’d rather not have the shop done up at all. He despises the twinkling lights and glittering tinsel, brightly winking at him until he gets a headache worse than the one already brought on by his hangover.Manny never asks permission, either. It happens the same way every year: Bernard will come downstairs into the shop with a cup of coffee and a cigarette in hand, only to find Manny teetering treacherously on a ladder, nailing obnoxiously garish garlands to the ceiling. He does a sloppy job. The wreaths are lopsided, the ribbons tangled, and the tree he insisted upon tucking away in the corner is decorated unevenly, with most of the ornaments at eye-level and on only one side of the dying, wilting thing. It’s horrible and ugly, like the spirit of Christmas came in and vomited all over the place.It attracts customers, too, particularly children, who only come in and dirty the place with the snow on their boots and their candy-cane-residue-sticky fingers. Bernard tries to look on the bright side. At the very least, it’s a good way to make money. Parents will buy their children any useless crap during the holidays. He decides to grasp the opportunity, and after a great deal of wrangling and threats and bribes, manages to get Manny into a Santa suit (though only for about an hour before Manny begins to complain it’s too hot, and that the children keep tugging on his beard).Fran is more generally optimistic of Manny’s decorating and general holiday cheer. She compliments his work, even if she curls her lip at it whenever he’s not looking. Still, she doesn’t complain, especially when Manny starts baking again to try to get everyone in the Christmas spirit. Even Bernard has to admit, he does make good sugar cookies and fudge.Manny sews and knits more in this time, as well. He’s made malformed sweaters, gloves that were too small or had extra fingers, and hats big enough to swallow someone whole. He made them all stockings a few years ago, after declaring that they needed to have something festive to hang up in the backroom. They’re equally as horrid as everything else he makes, particularly Bernard’s, where he started stitching the letters of his name too large, so it looks more like it reads ‘BERN’ with a barely visible ‘ard’ tacked onto the end. It has a hole in the bottom from when Bernard ‘accidentally’ dropped a cigarette on it.For the weeks leading up to Christmas, Manny keeps the radio tuned into the Christmas channels. Bernard wonders if he stalks them, because it seems, every year, that as soon as they are available, he is upon them. It doesn’t take long for Bernard to get fed up with it, and after playing a game of tug-of-war regarding whether or not the radio should be on or off, Bernard beats the thing to death with a broom handle. They’ve gone through four radios this way. Manny resorts to humming the tunes to himself, but this stops when he too is thumped with a household item.Christmas Eve is always quiet. Bernard closes the shop early and shuts all the lights off to prevent any carolers from attempting to bother them (though it is futile, and they always eventually do, to which Fran and Bernard crow drunkenly in unison for them to piss off). The three sit in the dim backroom around the dining table, smoking and drinking and playing Monopoly when Manny inevitably takes it off the top of the cupboards in the kitchen and dusts it off. It’s always strangely peaceful, the mood sober despite the alcohol. Snow falls lightly on the shop, and the next afternoon they gather once more to exchange gifts. They’re always lame. Fran gifts Bernard his ninth bottle opener in a row and gives back a book she borrowed in June and never read. Bernard gives Manny a pen and a pocketful of change—the only things he could find on such short notice, as he never plans for these sorts of things, and never will. Manny briefly jokes about getting a raise for Christmas, though he immediately clams up when Bernard shoots him an unamused glare.They discuss New Years’ resolutions as the afternoon slips into evening, and they’ve cracked open a few bottles of wine. Bernard says he doesn’t have one, which isn’t a surprise to the other two, as he never does. Manny says he’d like to exercise more, or maybe eat better, or maybe read more books. Fran declares she’s going to take up scrap-booking—seriously this time, not half-arsed like all of her other past attempts. Less than sober now, she insists they take a photo for her to start. It takes a few attempts of wrestling and restraining Bernard to get one where he’s not moving around too much and can be seen properly. She tucks it into her purse looking deeply satisfied with herself, and Bernard grumbles and slouches in his rickety wooden chair.Really, despite Bernard’s complaining and Fran’s under-eagerness regarding the holiday, they do both anticipate it every year. They’d never admit it, but it is tradition. It’s routine. It has happened in years past, and it will happen all over again the next year, and the year after that, and the year after that. It’s how things have always been, and how they always will be during Christmastime in Black Books.