The Adlon-Halle looks like the setting for a trashy novel. For since the evacuation of the families and the closure of the schools, Berlin has become a city of men. In the small bar they serve beer, and at the tables covered with white tablecloths, wine is served. The guests who want to go into the hall must run the gauntlet of greedy glances. Some walk with their heads down, others walk swiftly and energetically or with deliberate arrogance.
People court the favour of the hotel managers because they decide who gets a table.
So here there is a group of people who live unaffected by misery, as though they were only guests on the threatened earth. A strange, tense atmosphere. 26th January 1944 I am completely exhausted after our party which lasted until morning. We danced as though we were possessed, as though someone was standing behind us with a whip, as though it was the last time. We invited Mr. Remde from the St Pauli bar next door, and he brought red wine.