This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers.
German class started at 8 a.m. I hated it! The old building seemed an appropriate place to learn this old European guttural language. Even the architecture suggested a dark and troubled time.
It took two years of German classes to receive my degree. It was that or take the equivalent number of hours in mathematics. My instructor for the entire two years was Herr Blumenthal. He stood an unimpressive five foot one, always smoked a pipe, and wore had the same tweed jacket for the entire two years.
My days started with the same words “Guten Morgen Herr James!”