The early 1980s were golden days when dyed hair and ripped clothes could still provoke real outrage from parents, teachers, and fellow passengers on the tram. There was supposed to be no future – at least that’s what the great powers had promised. So why waste precious time on vocational training? Wasn’t it much more meaningful to sample the vast array of intoxicants, screw in more studs on the leather jacket, and crank up the volume on the sound system so that the neighbors could enjoy the new soundtrack to the downfall?.