Baba Boba

“What’s life to us poor folks? The moment you land in this life the old man starts cussing that there’s another mouth to feed. You go off hungry to school in the morning, and when you got to bed at night the hunger’s still gnawing at your gut. And then you join the work force. Sell your strength like you’d sell a gallon o’ gas. And you belong to the boss, the man with the money. And you become…in a manner of speaking…a hammer or a chair or a steam shovel or a fountain pen, or else you turn into a laundry iron. That’s the way it is. What’s the one joy you have left? Love! Where nobody can tell you what to do? Love! Where you’re free on home ground and you can tell the boss and his flunkies: Private Property! No trespassing! Love! The rich, see, they’ve got so many things to amuse themselves with…seaside vacations and music and books…but us? Yeah, sure we pick up a book once in a while, but not every day. Who’s got the know-how? Who’s got the time? And music? Well, opera’s alright, but gimme a good variety show or an operetta…“Marquis of Luxembourg”…or “Waltzing Dream” or “The Merry Widow,”…you know the…

"Vilja, o Vilja, sweet maid o’ the woods”…or lemme drop a dime in the juke box, play a waltz and grab my girl…that’s my idea of fun… To us, love ain’t what it is to the rich. It’s our…in a manner of speaking…it’s our reason for living. If that goes, you can just as well can it all. Ain’t it the truth, Eugene?”
― Ernst Toller, Hinkemann