My story is simple and depressing. I generally dont want to talk about it but if somebody insists I usually tell my memories. I was an average child - born and brought up in a traditional family, with its ups and downs. There were some periods when we did really well and some periods when we needed to tighten our belts. It was a special time as local people got into a craze- started looking for scrap gold. My father and brothers were quite sceptic at first but the omnipresent madness had a big influence on them. More and more often we were talking about searching for a scrap gold and possible purchases. My mother was dreaming about moving out to more civilized place. My father wanted to stay, but rebuild our house and set up his own shop. My brother had only one dream- find the scrap gold and get out of there. He didnt have enough courage to say it directly, but we all knew that his dream of travelling is connected with dream of an escape. What about me? Honestly, I was just a kid and was dreaming about a new bicycle. I didnt really understand the whole fuss but at least something was going on in our small and boring town. I remember how interesting it was to watch the rumble and buzz of voices of the town square.