'Twas the Night Before Christmas and all thru the shop, Not a tailor was working, not even a mop. The clothes were all hung on the racking with care, In hopes that kiosk customers soon would be there; The garments were nestled all snug in their wraps, while visions of clean shirts danc'd in our caps, And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in pressed pants, Had just planned our store's party with a nice winter's dance-When out on the drive-up there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the office to see what was the matter. To the drive-thru window I flew like a fiend, Moved open the sliding door, and threw up the screen.
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