Emil Liffgens. I arise again, greet the dawn, flooding my skin yellow. Wrinkles appear as canyons, divots emphasised by shadow. I sigh one of my sighs. Emma used to call them wistful. Wonderful Emma, long gone. I glance out into her garden, smile as I see her tulips yellow and red. Heinz Meyer. Tuesday today, perhaps I should go to the shop. Today Maurice would have in some rye bread, the type that goes beautifully with salami. Perhaps topped with some Swiss cheese. Another breakfast, another day to sit and watch a clock. It counting away the seconds- a pendulum swinging back and forth ceaselessly. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Hermann Schloss. I turn to lock my door as I exit, something I never used to have to do. I long for those days, back before the troubles. I sigh again, thinking of Emma. I long for you too, Emma. I long for the pain you healed in me. I long for the days you used to sit with me, just sit. The young ones would find innuendo in that, but it was honest. It was innocent and pure. We sat, and talked, and I think we both healed. It was good. Simply good. David Oppenheimer. The walk isn