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Without even stepping through the establishment's doorway, Genz, with an impassive face, listened to the sad tale until its logical conclusion. After a few more seconds of silence, he took out a pack of cigarettes, offered one to the man, and lit one for himself. Holding the smoke in for about ten seconds, he exhaled it into the (post-)lunchtime sky and finally said:
- You've been through a lot. But we don't choose where or how we're born; anything can happen. At least you're not in the undead army, and you're not in the middle of nowhere in the desert, and you have someone to return to, - he nodded towards the portrait. - Yes, she's a good one. Maybe now is the right time to marry her, even if you've been putting it off. A wise man once told me: life is not a 100-meter sprint, but a marathon; the one who doesn't come first doesn't lose, but the one who doesn't make it to the very end. So, as long as you don't consider yourself defeated, you're still in the game, and sooner or later, you'll have a chance to make a comeback and get even. Our ancestors probably went through even worse things, - the smoke was inhaled again. - Did you go to the administration? Maybe they could help you there, even if only a little.