I remember being in charge of the trainstop "Eichkamp" in western Berlin in 1920's. I was already a greyish gentleman then. Lived in a 2-story house along Werkstattstraße. I had a brunette wife, considerably younger than me, and a daughter maybe 5-7 years old. As far as I remember, we made a decent living, nothing spectacular. We did have a car in the end though. Can't remember the make/model, just that it was an open car, and had text in the radiator, going from bottom corner to the opposite top corner, yellowish letters, maybe 10-ish characters, give or take.

I probably died soon after that, since I seemed to have a huge emotional backlog towards my little daughter, I missed her so much. When my daughter was born in this life, that opened emotional gates for me that I could not explain.

I also have a vivid memory of a scene on a battlefield, that level of fear is impossible to imagine. That must have been from WW1 then. Walking on an open field, when suddenly enemy motorized vehicles appear from a nearby forrest and start shooting. I literally wanted to eat a hole in the ground to hide.