Saturday, January 21, 1984

There are four of us showering today. The water is warmer and flows pleasantly longer because we are on earlier than rookies like me last week. And because we’ve done our norm.

After breakfast, it’s back to the rattle shop – paper sacks, Bakelite, pins, screws and nuts all Saturday long.

What I want to do in the West, Jรผrgen tries to tear me away from the past and to dare to look ahead. My future on the other side – the “rotting, dying imperialism”, as hardliners like to describe capitalism with contempt when it comes to class struggle in lesson. 

I want to become a farmer in Canada. That’s why I ended up in Greifswald. As far away from “home” as possible. And in the hope that my agricultural training will be useful. In my wildest dreams, I see myself as the boss of my own company. Something with computers.

A neighbor boy in the prefab building in my hometown actually has a primitive PIKO dat, on which I was allowed to tinker with complete fascination. Some nerd is said to have used it to automate the signal box of a toy train. That’s why I want to learn common business computing at the next opportunity so that I can play within the free world.

That sounds like a good plan, nods Jรผrgen. And in any case, it should be more lucrative than his self-employed career in the East. While we learned at school how unfair it was that farmers had to pay tithes in the Middle Ages, he has to bake a hell of a lot of rolls to be allowed to keep a tenth of his work. His bad luck is my good luck. If he didn’t have the tax investigation on his back, we would never have met. ๐“ฃ๐“ธ ๐“‘๐“ฎ ๐“’๐“ธ๐“ท๐“ฝ๐“ฒ๐“ท๐“พ๐“ฎ๐“ญโ€ฆ

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