A Long forgotten People at long Last Return
"Fine by me," Zamfir thought, leaping out of bed and rushing for a quick shower. Once done, he brushed his teeth quickly, checked up on his septum piercing (a drunken decision that he did not regret, but he'd always worry the damn thing would snap out of his nose in his sleep.)
Returning to his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, he cut his clock's alarm short with a practiced knock, so that the clock let out only a short electrical chirp.
He rolled himself a cigarette and went to the window aimed to the east, knowing he could spare a moment of peace before heading out to the garage for the day.
Where were these dreams coming from, he pondered. Maybe they were memories from his homeland, a place he hadn't set foot in for around 30 years.
His father would often recall the last few days they'd spent there, a few months after Zamfir's birthday. He told him of a bison reservation they'd visit, and of the mighty beasts dwelling in those peaceful meadows.
Or maybe he was just getting old and tired of living in the city - then again, Zamfir doubted he'd be getting better business in the countryside.
Whatever. He'll figure it out one way or the other, he thought, before heading to his busted up car for his ride to work.
