Hey Man, well this is Babylon

The new treaty re-affranchised Piotr from the years of imprisonment following his plane being downed behind enemy lines. Having not seen beyond his filth-ridden cells in a decade, the effulgence of the sunlit world outside brought him to his knees, tears streaming his face… but he cried not for the sun.

Upon his death, years later, he clutched half a broken necklace – his war souvenir – and gasped a stranger’s name.

The only visitors to his grave were his wife and a tall, teary-eyed old man with a foreign accent, who said only that they had been friends during the war.