Nineteen-eighty-three was...

...well, it was a year.

It wasn't anything special for Michael. He didn't find the Lost Ark, nor did he re-discover the sunken city of Atlantis. He just went to work, ate a microwaved burrito he'd snuck into the place, and then went home.

He didn't consider himself anything all that special either, but Michael was fine with his life. The man was content with the normality of it, besides, it was easier to make your life crazy than to un-crazy it–he thought so, at least.

Micheal still did consider his little brother a bit of a crybaby, but he'd grown out of the whole bullying phase he'd put him through.

They'd even made up and treated one another like, well, normal brothers!

He had even managed to get a job at his father's restaurant–Michael always was pretty good with a wrench–though he did find it a bit weird having your dad as your boss. But, if he was being honest, it really was just like doing more important chores for the whole day instead of maybe an hour or two.

Eventually, he found himself on break, and what other way to spend your break at a pizzeria than to eat the shady, greasy, yet still somehow passable pizza!

Seriously, there was definitely something up with the pizza, but he wasn't sure if he was just convincing himself that–it tasted fine after the first two bites anyway.

So, lounging in a chair, taking care not to get any sauce on his uniform, he snacked away, watching lazily as some other employees worked away.

His life was boring, uninteresting really, and yet...

...he found himself quite liking it.