The smog that morning was thick, full of the aroma of gunpowder and dreams long forgotten. As Vincent walked down the same Street his father and his father's father he could feel the history taking hold of his thoughts, yesterday's newspaper scraps whipped around his feet before disappearing into the fog. All was calm that morning, so much so he could hear the gentle breeze flowing past his ears. 

 

Vincent eventually reached a run down old shop, most of the windows had been put through, the sign above the door had eroded beyond legibility, he reached into his right, inside coat pocket and pulled out a large key which had letters engraved on the shafts showing 'Z.A.R.M'. He unlocked the rusted iron front door, breaking the morning silence with a defining creak as he pushed his way inside.

 

The heavy layer of dust jumped off the floor with every step Vincent took highlighting the rays of sunlight piercing the room. He proceeded to walk through, uncovering the heavy sheets from different pieces of equipment sitting on dark oak tables arranged in a classroom fashion.

'hmmm, I hope I can do them justice' he thought as he placed his hand upon one of the grinders

 

As Vincent walked into the back office, a flood of memories hit him with no warning, everything was still in the exact places they were when he was there as a small boy, learning the trade.

 

Vincent sat in his father's chair, lit one of the cigars from the desk drawer and looked around him...

 

"well Pa i'm here.... i'm home"

As you open the heavy iron barred door and walk into the premises you are greeted by a stocky man, medium height, a long silver beard tied near the end, piercing black eyes looking from underneath an old battered motorcycle helmet.

from his weathered leather jacket he pulls out an old wooden pipe, lights it and puffs a cloud of sweet smelling smoke into the room

 

"Good day to you"

"What services are you looking for today?"

he says in a well calculated, gravely voice