Handfuls of frosty water can make almost anyone smile, but it cannot make them forget.

And I stop listening to me, because to put it bluntly, I tire me.

20 minutes later: a girl on Himmel Street. She looks up. She speaks in whisper. 'The sky is soft today, Max. The clouds are so soft and sad, and...' She looks away and crosses her arms. She thinks of her papa going to war and grabs her jacket at each side of her body. 'And it's cold, Max. It's so cold.

A small but noteworthy note. I've seen so many young men over the years who think they're running at other young men. They are not. They are running at me.

His eyes were cold and brown - like coffee stains.

They say that war is death's best friend, but I must offer you a different point of view on that one. To me, war is like the new boss who expects the impossible. He stands over your shoulder repeating one thin, incessantly: 'Get it done, get it done.' So you work harder. You get the job done. The boss, however, does not thank you. He asks for more.

The silence was always the greates temptation.