It's hard for me to not imagine a quiet early evening setting in some modest cafe in central Vienna at this time, in which A skinny young Austrian, living close to the edge of deep poverty, sits down for a bowl of soup, notices that he has no salt at hand, and signals over to the moderately older, rougher looking pockmarked man with a vaguely central Asian cast to his face at the next table that he should lend him his salt.
And then there they sit in their respective bubbles of poverty and social obscurity, meters apart, two of the greatest butchers of the 20th century, who in less than 30 years would each be leading millions of men to their deaths in destroying the others regime while carving Europe with rivers of blood.
And then there they sit in their respective bubbles of poverty and social obscurity, meters apart, two of the greatest butchers of the 20th century, who in less than 30 years would each be leading millions of men to their deaths in destroying the others regime while carving Europe with rivers of blood.