Wildflecken is a great little town. In fact, it's one of a whole series of great little towns dotted around the fields, clustered around Fulda. It has a nice hotel, a couple of great Imbiss stands, and in 1990, a tiny car dealership where you could buy the special edition Stephi Graf VW (with upholstery featuring Stephi silhouettes in a variety of colors). Night life, however was just a bit lacking.
We went to the club - the one, singular, dance club in town. It was... charming in many ways, if a bit unusual. Somehow it combined naiveté, and a sort of staid, middle-aged, stodginess. The only people who seemed to dance were a collection of young, giggly German farm girls who gyrated together in the center of the floor and laughed at the GI's they tried to entice to join them. The soldiers sat around in self conscious clumps and drank their beer, daring each other to approach the mass of German femininity in the middle of the room. Every third song was Space Cowboy.
Kirk went out for a pee and came back looking highly amused.
'you should see the bathroom'
'what's wrong with it?'
'it's a wall.'
'a wall?''
'well, a wall and a trough at the bottom. But it's great for high marking.'
I wasn't sure if I wanted to attempt the women's version. I had visions of open-door squatting in a land that hadn't heard of the bikini wax.
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