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 At the entry to the prison depot I was stripped of my clothing and all my belongings. My notebook, my pen, wristwatch, cigarettes and cash were impounded and I was put into a cell on the second floor that measured no more than 4 square meters. The first five days were a living hell. I thought that staying here would bleed the life out of me, but then I thought that I'd been in tough spots before and started being a little more philosophical about my predicament. poety-turkich I started moaning to the guards that I needed some materials to occupy myself with. I went on like this for days and the guards showed no signs of wanting to make the least effort, but finally, I think my whining really got on their nerves and to shut me up they slid me a pencil and a few old magazines under the door. I drew and wrote on the broad yellowed margins. I hid my drawings and verse in my laceless shoes. One of the poems that I wrote while in jail was called "In the Snake's Skin".  
 On the tenth day, I was expelled to Yugoslavia without a penny in my pocket and no official identification. What should I do? Go forward into an unknown land or return secretly to Austria? I couldn't accept the idea of returning to Turkey without my paintings and some personal belongings I'd left in Vienna. I took to the mountains near Maribor in Croatia, with the idea of crossing the border at a mountain pass accessible from there. Unfortunately, the pass was heavily patrolled by the canine corps and passage was next to impossible. I returned to Maribor the same night and happened on some Turks who had the same idea. I told them that it was impossible to get to Austria through the Maribor pass, but that I knew a way and that I would take them to Austria for a small sum of money. I, of course, knew no other way to Austria than that which had failed me just a couple of hours earlier. But I thought that all those walks I'd taken in the mountains as a youth were certainly meant for something. So I set off with my little group of trusting Turks and about six hours later we arrived in Austrian territory without the slightest brush with the police. They paid up and two days after my expulsion from Austria, I was back in Vienna with a little pocket money.
I first went in search of my car and found it were I'd been forced to leave it that awful day that I was ambushed by the police. There was plenty of gas in the tank and the toys had been put back inside! I waited until late at night to go by the "Down and Out" for my paintings. The local was up for rent, with handbills plastered all over the place. By entering the building next store and going through the basement, I was able to join the basement of the club building and I succeeded in getting all my paintings out along with my hi-fi, cassettes and a hundred or so of my vinyl records. I loaded my car with all these things and sold about half of them the next day, leaving my paintings with a friend who owned a café. I got in contact in the following days with my friends, including L., who were shocked by S.'s comportment and the brutality of the whole story. Nothing remained in my former apartment and it was too dangerous to try to take up residence there any time soon, so I went off to live with a friend across town.