SIX YEARS AND THREE MONTHS LATER.The thunder clapped very loudly, announcing the arrival of the heavy downpour. Javad de Venta walks out of the small cigar factory and rushes into his old Rickety car that was parked in the middle factory's garage. His black shiny hair was packed up into a ponytail and his Beard was a little shabby. His old sneakers get soaked the moment he step into the downpour. He goes at once into his car and sighs tiredly. It has been a very busy day, as always with meager pay. Gently he rode out, heading to his home. He had in mind to branch his favorite restaurant for takeout food. On his way, on the dark highway, his old car decided to stop abruptly, running out of fuel. Javad let out a frustrated sigh at this. He leans back in his car to breathe out frustratedly, again. His eyes varied around then fell on his palm for some seconds. The thought to speed home crossed his mind but he pushed it back with a gulp. It has been six years and three good months
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