I didn't have the heart to go back to the old club, theatre of so many dashed hopes. I didn't even try to contact L. or any of the rest of the old crowd that frequented the club. It was time to forget all that and get started on a new life. I decided to contact a professor in a fine arts academy in Venice who spoke to me of a possible transfer to his school if I was enrolled in an academy with equivalent standards. It so happens that I had done just that in previous days after having spoken to Professor Wolfgang Hutter, head of the department of painting at the "Hocheschule fur Angewandte Kunst" in Vienna. After that I planned to go to Italy and request the transfer.I left my two pictures (Nu-11) and (N-12) in Prof. W. Hutter's workshop. During my registration at the Viennese academy, I was required to deposit a small sum for materials used in the studios. For that, I had to go to the academy's treasurer's office and stand in line with dozens of other new students. At the window, I presented my new student card and, at the request of the cashier, my shiny new Turkish passport. She says me to await a little. I sat on a bench. A few moments later, she returned, but not alone. Behind me, "Police" was shouted in my ear and as the frigid handcuffs were pinched my wrists I was told that I was under arrest. Nothing would ever surprise me again in Vienna! I was dragged down the hallowed halls of this institute of high culture of like a dog in chains. 1982 will remain the cursed year in my memory. I returned in the same year for the third time in prison.