Short Cake - Layer 2

Salim was a rough driver. He could kick on the accelator to 140 km/ph and hold the steering wheel with just one hand. To him, driving a car was a mere pleasure that he could not be bothered with. Just about three years ago, Salim and his gang of other friends where involved in a horrific crash which left him dangerously close to death. But Salim somehow fought off death and came back from the ashes. He had a huge scar on his belly to show it.It was a terrible sight, and a soft prayer was said by Abbas as he absorbed the cool air coming out from the vent of the air conditioner. He would not argue with Salim to slow down. He silently hoped that Salim had learnt his lesson.

Abbas' thoughts wavered to his present. Just two days ago he was in Great Britian, packing his bag, excited to see his family and friends. The long year before had been terrible, long and eventful, with it being his final year in university. He had just completed his undergraduate degree and he swore silently, that it was his toughest year in life. He could not do any more of studying and assignments. He needed a break. And he promised himself not to work for another year. A whole year, which would compromise of relaxing at home, going out with friends, and ofcourse, learn the language he most craved - arabic. He needed the language real bad. He was Omani after all, and he considered it a shame that he couldnt speak his supposed mother tounge. Evening classes were the real deal, and he needed to find out about one such class that would make him stand out as a real arab. The best part of it all, he thought, was that he had real arabic speaking friends around him. It was high time he ditched the english he spoke with them. Time to make a mark for myself,he thought, a target. Arabic.

"So how was your flight back home? Any pretty air hostess?", Salim brought him back to the present.
"Uhuh, a couple of them. More like your average aunties", Abbas laughed.
"Man it's good to see you back", Salim guestered, one hand still on the wheel, doing 110 km/ph.
"Same here bro. Looks like nothing much has changed?", Abbas enquired.
"Nothing much. They've got building a huge flyover near the airport and that's pretty much it. This is Oman for you."
"Aren't they sick and tired of flyovers and roads and shopping centres? When will they build a real monument? Look at other countries, they all have something or the other to show off. The empire state building, the two towers in malaysia, hell even our neighbour's got the burj. Beats me!".
"Yeah but who really gives a damn down here. Everyone's just busy with wasta and pocketing money into their big bellies. Bless our father though. He does all his best for his people".
"Crap".
"Man, welcome to the 18th century. Love it or hate it", Salim laughed.

Abbass kept his gaze outside the window. Long barren roads filled with luxurious cars. He knew he wanted one of thos for himself one day. Which one would it be? Mercedes? BMW? Ferrari?

"So what we doing today?", Abbas asked?
"Let's get to PDO, they're making barbeque today. Zubairs calling the gang around. What you say?"
"Sounds good."

They crossed Qurum and came into PDO. Abbas had not been for a long time.