In my old age, I decided to return to my native Kuban. Pension, a little house, an apiary. I traveled and traveled, but never made it. A car accident, death… and it’s 1980 again? Am I a young truck driver again in a collective farm? Fields around me, stanitsas, khutors — and right on the nose, the harvest. The Union in all its glory! A fairy tale! And the best part is that in my family trouble hasn’t happened yet, and I can prevent it. But first I need to make it to the garage with my broken “Gazone…”. Hey! Comrade! Take me in tow! Huh?! Where are you pushing?! Stop! Hold up!