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S. F.
     A young blond girl, S., fell in love with me. She had fled an abusive father and lived with little money in squats with her girlfriends and mixed with the immigrant population of Vienna. We got along marvelously well. She found in me the tenderness she had never had in her father. She posed for me and helped me to improve my German.
   At night, I took photographs of people who flocked to the cafés in the Turkish quarter and sold them for a modest sum to those who wanted a photo souvenir or a snapshot to send to their family back home. I also drew portraits on week ends and, sometimes, after collecting a few old household appliances that were still in working order, I'd pile them into my old car and head for nearby Yugoslavia, then a haven of black market capitalism, and turn a neat profit.
  With my improved language skills, I offered my services as interpreter for Turks and Austrians at odds with the respective consular services and administrations. These new activities brought in a lot more money than the job with professor Hausner. I managed to save 70,000 Shillings and I started to think about setting myself up in business again.
    A profitable business was the only thing that would put an end to my eternal problems with finances, immigration and give me the peace of mind to develop my artistic activities. The challenge to the existing order could only be made by someone who had the time and financial resources to mount a sustained and concerted attack against the status quo. In the 9th precinct of Vienna, a locale was available for rent. It had formally been a student's nightclub and my idea was to create the same sort of business. The only hitch was that the owner would not rent to a foreigner. With the help of L., young lawyer-to-be, and my young Austrian girlfriend who agreed to front as the renter, the lease was signed and I celebrated with my accomplices afterward.