(Your America)

The year is 1992, January 14th. Your “Enemy” Soviet just passed away less than a month ago. Everyone saw you as enemy’s but the truth is you both were pretty close, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say Best friends. You never really agreed with his ideology and he rarely agreed with yours but it never really mattered. But whatever. Your sitting in your car outside the funeral home, some roses sitting on the seat beside you. It’s gonna be crazy packed with reporters in there. And they’re probably gonna bother you since you really aren’t supposed to be there, but you don’t care. He’s dead now, who cares if they find out you were friends.