There is this mountain called The Wendelstein. It's in German Bavaria. To get to it, you just go some kilometers south of Munich, to the Roseheim District, and park your car in a little small parking area near the quaint village of St. Maragarethen.
You will see the Wendelstein from miles away as you near it. And what makes it so unique, so wonderful, is that from its summit, it offers breath taking vistas and views of the Alps and of the valley below. It is very exposed and because of this, its unobscured views are the reason it has been a favorite of Germans and tourists for hundreds of years. And I walked up that mountain.
The song came on. He looked up and began to listen. It reminded him of her. He looked around the nightclub for someone to dance with. "Oh well," he said. It didn't matter. He was stuck in Northern Germany and around him were uninterested locals. He doubted if any spoke fluent English.
He had come to Delmenhorst, a good size community just south of Bremerhaven and the North Sea a few days earlier as a part of a Military Police escort team. It was their job to meet incoming American troops at the many train stations across the northern part of Germany and help those troops deploy by providing escorts through the narrow streets of the Northern German villages. He had been working for three days straight, almost nonstop.
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