Coming Home for Christmas is the perfect escape from Mark Spellman’s daily grind. In the place of brainstorming and file filing is snow falling and Christmas caroling. Oh just wait till the boys at the office hear about all these festivities, he thinks with a smile crinkling his red cheeks.

And they’ll never believe at Home Mark might find the girl of his dreams. Or girls! Mark, you see, has been scouting the Central Plaza for a like-minded lassie or two with whom to share the holiday.

He spots her cross the way, a girl-next-door type if next-door was an Hungarian modeling agency, and makes a bee-line.

“Merry Christmas,” sheepishly musters Matt from behind a cup of mulled wine.

“Merry Christmas,” the woman responds. “A/S/L?”

Christ, is everyone totally new to Home?! It’s only 10 am, Matt thinks, and everyone’s acting like Central Plaza’s some sort of Clubhouse. “GT,” he responds. “FO.”

The woman – if there really is a woman behind the chesty avatar – pulls an about-face and congas off towards a crowd of juiceheads. Her limbs contort around her core, cutting through the pixilated snow.

He kills some more time. He plays pool and poker. Catches a flick at the Home Theatre (a trailer, he forgets for what) and snags some threads at the Shopping Mall (a shirt, it’s hideous). But the day is spoiled. The seasonal event, he thinks, with its snow and decorations, is little more than a lazy paint job on a hastily designed faux-reality.

It’s true, Matt tweets that night, You can’t go Home again.