Adolf Hitler and the little girl had a lot in common. Their eyes were both sad and inquisitive, and they both spoke German. Her name was Enkel, it fit her, and Adolf liked the way it sounded. She was splayed out against his chest, and just small enough for it to be comfortable.
	The wind picked up, and the people sitting around the fire all simultaneously pulled themselves closer to its warmth. The desert was cruel person. It was alive with heat during the day, and like playing a cruel game, became dead with cold during the night.
	Adolf Hitler and the little girl liked to have quiet conversations. They would cough, rub the sand out of the corners of their mouths, and speak to each other, as if they were at a dinner party.

	Two firm hands pulled gently at a bow tie that was wrapped around a thick neck. The hands patted down the sides of a jacket, and rested themselves in the pockets. Adolf Hitler smiled and looked at Enkel. She was dressed in a modest dress, and had ribbons holding her hair. The edge of her mouth curved softly, and she asked in the formal, “are you ready?”.
	Adolf thought the way she said it was incredibly womanly for someone so young.
	“Yes.” Adolf said.

	The doors opened with a casual push to a grand theater, great glass chandeliers, and a group of men, all playing string instruments, were surrounded by a vast sea of dancing couples.
	“What do you think Enkel?” Adolf whispered in her ear. She turned her head slightly and smiled.
	“Let's find our table Adolf.” He nodded, and enveloped her small hand in his.





		Woodrow was tall, and had a pair of glasses that always slipped too far down his nose. He brushed off his clothes and stood up, his face held a look that harbored intention.
	“I think.” He paused and itched behind his ear. “We should go to the warehouse.” He itched it again.
The warehouse was a reoccurring object in the desert. When all the travelers had felt like their trek was becoming uneventful, a familiar shape would appear on the horizon. After a couple days of walking, it would move closer to them, and they would see its concrete face in entirety.
	Woodrow's jaw locked, Adolf's stomach tightened, Enkel's head wore a valley into Adolf's chest.
	It had a metal door. It could be opened. Everyone knew that a gentle pull would be more than enough. The windows were boarded, the wood was grayed but still intact.

	“We should go to the warehouse.” As he repeated himself, a breeze blew sand across his face, he blinked. Enkel translated for Adolf.
	He looked down, and spoke quietly to Enkel.

	The table was set by the time Adolf and Enkel had sat down. The plates were covered in something good looking, and the glasses were filled with wine. The music paused, the sea of people moved slowly to their tables, and began to eat.
	“Adolf, I am glad you could make it.” Adolf coughed and looked up. A man stood near him, leaning over, he was rather round and dressed well.
	“Ah, hello Hermann. It is nice to see you here.” Adolf extended his hand.
	“It has been a while Adolf, we have a lot to talk about.” Hermann briskly sat down, and shifted his glare.
	“Let's not talk about that right now Hermann, let's eat.” A slight raise of the hand.
	“Yes, let's.”

	The food was good. Hermann looked up and spoke around a mouth of food.
	“Who is your companion Adolf?” Hitler turned his head, and blinked. Enkel was especially quiet around his colleagues. His surprise quickly turned to warmth, his hand fell on her shoulder.
	“This is Enkel, Hermann.” The round man attempted a nod.
	“Nice to meet you Hermann.” Enkel spoke with an indetectable amount of harsh coy.
	“You as well,” said Hermann.