The days, in comparison, were gray, sticky like slime and filled with unlimited boredom - everything seemed ugly and unreal to me. I grew up in Vienna, after the war. I lived with my parents in Favoriten, a traditional Viennese working-class district, that belonged to the Soviet occupied zone. The house we lived in endured a miserable existence between an old foundry from the turn of the century and a gray monster of a factory from the Nazi era, which now bore the sign of its new masters on its roof - that very same enormous red star.
In my memories everything is rusty and covered in dust. The streets looked like they were dead, nothing moved, nobody talked. The few people that I saw were bulky, misshapen and bent. I cant remember ever having heard someone sing or laugh. A world that stood still, without sounds, without colors, without movement - only sometimes interrupted by a cumbersome truck, filled with Soviet soldiers, blaring through the streets.