Bucharest, 1945: Life goes on in a more orderly fashion again, day after day unfurling more or less neatly among the ruins.

One day, out of the blue, while he was waiting at the traffic light on his way home, a guy walked up to him and pointed a gun at his chest, telling him to get out and leave the car. His car. The one he had ordered from the US, after all those years of hard work.
When it finally arrived, everybody had tiptoed around it for days. The elegant silvery coupé with the red upholstery, where she’d lean her lovely head on, tired after a ball. The hatch in the back, where the kids would squeal with joy when he’d take them on a day trip to wherever, the…

All those days in winter he’d driven his family up the mountains, all those summer afternoons to the hills and beaches…Then this guy had just climbed behind the wheel and driven away, his dirty hands clutching that wheel he used to stroke! Now he’s walking aimlessly in the streets, a vague idea he should go home and tell her that…the car was gone. A guy in a uniform had asked for it and he…he had pointed his gun at you.

He hated the war, it was finally over – and now everything just got a whole lot worse.

A song to go with it

*cha·os, noun: complete disorder and confusion. Disorder, disarray, disorganization, confusion, mayhem, bedlam, pandemonium, havoc, turmoil, tumult, commotion, disruption, upheaval, uproar, maelstrom.

In physics: behaviour so unpredictable as to appear random, owing to great sensitivity to small changes in conditions. The formless matter supposed to have existed before the creation of the universe.