He took out the certificate again. Read it again. NICI O MENȚIUNE.
He thought about tomorrow. He would go to his boss and hand over this paper. He would call the landlord of the one-bedroom apartment in Drumul Taberei—the one who had said “maybe next year.” He would open a bank account without having to check the “do you have a criminal record” box with his stomach in knots. program eliberare cazier sectia 19
The officer opened the door for him. Outside, the gray Bucharest sky had broken into thin strips of blue. Victor walked to the kiosk across the street. He bought a coffee, took a sip, and sat on the low concrete wall in front of the precinct. He took out the certificate again
He signed. His hand shook, but the signature was legible. He had practiced it for months, back in cell 12, imagining this exact moment. He thought about tomorrow
Nici o mențiune.