Dima woke up early. He was 38 but his body ached badly. "I'm gettin old," he thought. Like he was some old man. He wasn't, may be partly, in his soul.

The thing was, Germany was so different from his country of origin, Belarus. It was still Europe, buut Eastern Europe it was not.

He glanced at the screen of his cellphone. Nothing. No text from Marcia. This Friday will be a month, since they stopped talking. literally, stopped talking. It was a little bit painful, especially in the beginning. He was like a cow sometimes, chewing on his own thoughts, for hours. Those thoughts were interfering with his business.And he did not like anything that was interfering with his business. He  was a business man by his nature.

He finished the college of jurisprudence in Minsk, Belarus and he had been studying the Jusrisprudence or Law in Germany too until his dad died. And it was a demarcation line that separated his life from his life. There was no him, easy-going, previous him, only his pain, his thoughts of worthlessness and despair. His father was his best friend. He died in ugly car accident and Dima had been trying to find out what the check really happened.

He could not accept the fact that his dad was found guilty postmortem.