Seven weeks. Three cells. Two books. One hope. Pretrial detention can be incredibly boring. Back to the year 1981.

Busy teenagers had several opportunities to earn money legally. The most lucrative was vacation work. However, that was only possible in the summer. For three weeks, the pay was significantly higher than what apprentices earned in a month.

In the spring and fall, I was able to get a job at the fairground. A good friend of mine worked as a cashier on the chain carousel and offered to share the job with me. The operator played along. In just a few days, we both made good money.

Between jobs, we sold masks. My best friend’s uncle showed us how to mix plaster, pour it into various molds, and brush it artfully with shellac.

Once the masks were dry, we could sell them for a high price by ringing the doorbells in the stairwells of our apartment buildings. There were days when our “porn masks” sold like hotcakes. On other days, we sold nothing.

In between, I was able to keep my head above water as a moped whisperer. Since I could identify and repair problems with carburetors, ignitions, and exhausts just by listening to the noise, I was a sought-after helper. As a thank you, I usually received a bottle of tapped gas.

When nothing else worked, my fairground buddy and I would push an empty handcart to Brachwitz. There was a bottle factory there that we would sneak into.

Discarded bottles intended for smashing were piled up in the backyard. As soon as the coast was clear, we collected them by the crate. Preferably Pepsi for a whopping 50 pfennigs deposit per bottle.

After carting them home and cleaning them, we put them back into circulation at all the collection points throughout the city. That was borderline.

Just like Nina Hagen’s version of “My Way,” which we loved back then:

“Und Geld ist mehr – money – mehr wert als ich(And money is worth more—money—more than me) /

Als du, als ich(Than you, than me) /

Fressen allein genügt uns nicht(Food alone is not enough for us) /

Auch kein Blah-Blah macht keinen satt(Nor does blah-blah fill us up) /

In dieser sogenannten Stadt(In this so-called city)...”

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