.. Of course it is, what the hell am I saying!?’’ she thought to herself.When she left the hallways, there was a huge room, lit with countless can...les and with all kinds of drawings resembling battles and various other things. Ranging from the murals depicting entire tribe battles with two figures that stood out, clashing against each other, to several depictions of females wearing very little to nothing. Some of them appeared to be slaves, others concubines.Only one stood out, a woman dressed. It was a Friday night. After Mom left, Martha Jane darkened our bedroom and sat on the bed with me, watching the snow. The bed was in its usual place in that little room, pushed lengthwise against the wall alongside the big double window. We leaned on the window sill and talked and watched the falling snow. I don't remember what we talked about, but she had told me a story about something-or-other and I was astonished and said, "Really?", and she said "Yes, it really happened like that!", and I. I rub my eyes and take a sharp left turn, since I was walking on one of the main streets, leading to the Marienplatz, Munich’s main square. The noise of the crowd starts moving to the distance. Other than the random car, the sound of the city seems to fade. I reach a bench. I take a seat and take a dep breath. My phone has been vibrating a couple of times in my breast pocket during my walk. I feel paralyzed just at the thought of looking at it, who has messaged me. I look around, as if. My books I was required to cover on my own, about 50 bucks, and my dad helped me with tuition which allowed me enough money to buy a motorcycle, yes, the two wheeled convenience that nearly got me killed. I didn’t tell my parents about that but you also have to remember college in California at that time was tuition free.Motorcycles still carried a bit of the stigma of the past, Hells Angels, greaser gangs, low life types considered unsuitable for private college mid century and I was leaning.