Near the post office my tram slowed down. A neon slogan happily shined through the evening dusk: With Deutsche Lufthansa - to Munich Olympics! Myriads of red and yellow bulbs twinkled right above the slogan forming the shape of a jet-propelled Junkers.
Then I moved through fifteen hundred yards of luxury: best hotels, most fashionable shops, brand-new posh cars. And girls, dressed after future summer fashion.
Once again I've been struck by a memory of things that never happened. Of that strange year when we didn't go to Lago di Garda and spent the whole summer in a country house. For hours my father was sitting beside the radio - normally not his favorite device.
And sunny September day, when lessons were suddenly canceled. My classmates and I stood on department store roof watching the Germans. Nobody was looking for us. And we were staring at the troops marching through this luxurious boulevard. Rolling in half-track carriers. To Hell the carriers, they had half-track motorcycles, fantastic machines we'd never seen before! We looked on... A huge piece of cloth was pouring from the roof right to the pavement. Red cloth with a swastika inside a white circle.