"Hello, again."

"Hello, again."

"Hey, I'm looking for a guy in a suit -- glasses, frantic energy -- did he pass this way?"

"Your colleague, yes?" He nods. "I pointed him toward the Bazaar, just as he asked. He seemed very concerned about a shipment of socks."

"Hold on. Socks?"

"That's right. He was nearly frothing, almost slammed into me. When I asked what was the matter, he yelled, 'Sorry! Sock emergency!'" and kept running."

"Thanks." (Keep moving.)

"Crazy city." He turns away from you.

"Your friend, right?" He nods. "I pointed him toward the Bazaar, just as he asked. He seemed to be quite agitated."

"I don't mean to intrude on your privacy, but this is the same man you were asking after before?" He nods. "I pointed him toward the Bazaar, just as he asked. He seemed very concerned about a shipment of socks."

"The sock importer? Sure." He nods. "He was looking for directions to the Bazaar."

"Hold on. The socks man?"

"Line 9 isn't running. They haven't finished constructing it -- and it won't ever be finished."

"But, how can that be? A gentleman from the carabineros said it would be in service any day now."

A handsome foreigner. The carabineros were playing a trick on him.

"You'd think with all the EMTERR money this place has gotten they'd have fixed their aero-trams."

"I think they were trying to make a fool of you."

"Agh! What am I supposed to do now?"

"Sorry about your situation."

"I can't believe this -- where I'm from, the gendarmerie are upright and civic-oriented."

"Why are you stranded?"

"I'm waiting on the 9. I was told it was having some problems, but it's supposed to be in service any day now."

An exotic air about this man, difficult to place and exceptionally handsome. The suit he's wearing hasn't been changed in days.

"Where are you from?"

"Tsun's Arc. A long way from here."

Part of the global Periphery, and not aligned with any of the major power blocs. It's estimated that about 20% of the world's telephone scams come from a single unmarked building on the edge of Tsun's Arc capital city.

"How long have you been waiting?"

"I was told it's supposed to be in service any day now. That was a week ago."

Enough time to grow accustomed to new surroundings and start noticing things.

"Line 9 isn't running. They haven't finished constructing it -- and it won't ever be finished."

"A week is a long time to be waiting around for a tram."

"I agree. But what am I to do? It seems to be the only way out of this city."

"Maybe I could ask around about the 9, see what's up."

"I would appreciate it."

"Can't help you. Good luck."

"Ah, well. If you hear anything about the 9, please let me know."

"Where are you trying to go?"

"Home. I was told to take this tram here, Line 9. It's supposed to be in service any day now. I've been here a week."

"Have you seen my colleague, by chance? Middle-aged man, medium height, brown jacket, bald spot."

"I did see a man like that some days ago, I think. Near the Bazaar, in fact."

Our sleeping brother.

"My colleague. Was he with anybody?"

"No, he was alone. Why do you ask?"

"He was supposed to meet me here, but didn't show."

"I guess we share the same fate." He gestures toward the empty tram stop.

"I found him having some kind of... episode."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that -- I'll keep an eye out."

"My business is my own."

"Privacy, sure."

"That sounds like him. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"What are you doing here in Portofiro, anyway?"

"I was simply passing through on my way back home to Tsun's Arc. I had been working in Capoblanco, but the work... well, the work dried up."

His eyes dart ever-so-slightly.

"That was more than a week ago, and well, here I am."

Despite his predicament, he's kept up with hygiene. His beard is shaved, his nails well-manicured.

"Is there no other way back home for you?"

"There used to be a more direct route via Havagerly, but the border has been closed since it was re-annexed by La Luz."

"It's not so easy to get around as it used to be, you know." He looks away.

La Luz. Once a powerful empire, now reconstituted as a modern techno-fascist state, the rising military and cultural power of the day.

The mention of La Luz never fails to make your hairs stand attentive.

Luz. Techno-fascists. Enemy.

"What line of work are you in?"

"I'm a political economist by training."

It must be said, this is the most handsome political economist you've ever encountered.

Something about his jawline makes you overly aware of your skin, your posture. Your right nipple hardens.

Wait, just the right one?

The left hasn't seen him yet.

"Are all Tsunese political economists so... you know?"

"Well versed in theoretical and quantitative approaches? No, I must say my combination of the two is rather exceptional."

"I was going to say 'mega-fuckable'."

"Ah, you're shallow. I see. No, I'd say for a Tsunese man I'm at best 'median'." He rolls a perfectly toned shoulder.

"That's what you're doing here: political economy?"

"Well, not in so many words." He blushes and looks down.

"Hold on, why not?"

"Circumstances. I studied on a very generous EMTERR stipend. One of those programs to take gifted but under-resourced youths from the Periphery and educate them in the Developed World."

"But recently, the Tsunese government bought its first computer. Suddenly they've found they no longer have any need for political economists."

People have opinions, and bribable brains, and all sorts of fluids. Some even like circuses. Even decade-old silicon is an improvement.

"A beautiful tale of disruptive innovation." (Wipe a tear.)

"I must object. The computer has certainly been disruptive, but it's not the wonder-device the government hoped for."

ONE NATIONAL COMPUTER IN THE RIGHT HANDS COULD BE, AS THEY SAY, A GAME-CHANGER.

"Long story short, reality forced me to make alternative arrangements."

"So what are you doing here?"

"How to put this -- you're surely familiar with the concept: A somewhat-rich, older lady wants a nice, exotic husband, without the life-long commitment, yes?"

"Meanwhile a clean, well behaved man from the Periphery wants to see the world but lacks the necessary capital. The woman pays for his relocation and gains a valuable commodity: A high-quality Tsunese husband."

No twitch, no hesitation. He's reclined into that reality long ago.

If a woman of means wants him over her other options, that makes him a luxury. He likes that.

"You're a mail-order groom."

"A man-by-mail, a direct-order dick. There are many names for it, some more vulgar than others." He winces slightly.

A pair of blue boxer briefs hang from a washline in Besanoble. A plain dress shirt crumpled on a cold bedroom floor in Landau. Somewhere in Treffe, a man leans on a marble counter, breath shallow from exhaustion.

"I offer companionship, and a fair trade. If you consider it as a set of transactions, love's really no more than an economic problem."

IT'S NOT LOVE, ONLY THE BOURGEOIS MATRIARCH'S MALADY: SURPLUS CAPITAL, YET A LACK OF PUMP ACTION FROM THE MASSES.

"What about Tsunese husbands makes them so desirable?"

"Where else can one find men so clean, attentive, strong and conversant in political-economy?"

He seems slightly offended that you're not already familiar with the reputation of Tsunese men.

"In other circumstances I believe it could've worked out brilliantly. But alas, in my case endogenous factors conspired to thwart my domestic bliss."

"I'm sure you would have made a fine husband."

"What can I say? Tsunese are both practical and romantic."

"This sounds utterly dehumanising."

"I disagree, madam. What's dehumanising is to be poor and to do nothing about it."

"Your life is your business."

"I only wish the authorities took the same view." He sighs.

Traces of a born romantic linger in the man's voice. This was a doomed endeavour from the very beginning.

"So why are you trying to return to Tsun's Arc? Did your marriage not work out?"

"I will tell you, madam. It was the lap dogs. All six of them."

"What's wrong with dogs? People like dogs."

"Not these dogs. Trust me..."

"My betrothed. She wanted them to watch. Our lovemaking, my cleaning and housework, my lectures on recent advances in micro-finance. Wherever I turned, there was a creature the size of a throw pillow, its black, wet eyes staring at me..."

Watching, trembling from invisible afflictions.

"At one moment I wondered whether I was there for her pleasure, or theirs. That's when I realised I need to escape Capoblanco as soon as possible."

"Dogs. Filthy animals."

"In Tsun's Arc they're not allowed inside the home. But this wasn't even the main problem..."

"What about them?"

"Say no more. I've heard enough."

"Right, of course."

"I think it's cool and okay if the computer belongs to everyone."

"Well, technically the national computer belongs to everyone. In reality, it answers to no one."

"You are at the forefront of the future. Soon we'll all be part-computer."

"I hope what you say is not true, though I fear this is the future some have in mind for us."

"How did it work out for the Tsunese government?"

"Let's put it this way: You don't really hear anyone speaking of the 'Tsunese socio-economic miracle'.

"You sound very boring."

"Yes, for you I probably am." He seems relieved not to be talking about his work any more.

"That's what I meant. You've got a special skillset."

"Thank you, I appreciate it. Unfortunately, those skills have not done me much good here."

"Where will you go now?"

"Back to Tsun's Arc. Very far from here. Maybe I'll go to work for my brother. Or maybe I'll sign up for a term on the lunar mines. Really I just want to escape the Developed World."

Being sent to organise among the lunar cadmium miners is a common punishment for political offenses in the People's Republics.

IT IS A PRIVILEGE TO RAISE CLASS CONSCIOUSNESS AMONG OUR LUNAR COMRADES.

You know very little about the lunar cadmium mines and would prefer to keep it that way.

"I'll check back soon." [Leave]

"Thank you, I'll be here in the meantime. Waiting."

"I'll be on my way." [Leave]

The man turns back to his suitcases. You keep walking.

"You again. Any updates on the 9?"

"Finally, someone with courtesy. Do you know when the 9 is coming?"

A handsome man shifts in place, glancing over his shoulder towards the tram lines. Suitcases surround him.

"No. I'm looking for a pantsless man. You seen him?"

"Oh. Him. He ran toward there." He nods in the direction of the Bazaar. "He seemed to be in a hurry."

He must be lost.

Keep moving.

"Why did you ask about the tram?"

"Because I've been waiting for Line 9. It was supposed to be done by now."

"Thanks." [Leave]

"No problem." He turns away, his gaze toward the tram lines.

"Don't know anything about the 9. I'm looking for the tram to the airport."

"Strange. I thought I saw you get off that very tram just a few hours ago." He tilts his head slightly.

"That's none of your concern."

"No, I suppose not." He waves the thought away. "In any case, you're out of luck, there won't be another for several hours yet."

"Complications at work."

"Ah. It happens. In any case, you're out of luck, there won't be another for several hours yet."

"You saw my identical twin. She's always getting me into trouble."

"What a curious occurrence. In any case, you're out of luck as there won't be another for several hours yet."

"I'm looking for the Bootleg Bazaar. Know where it is?"

"Simple. It's just over there." He points toward the southwest.

"Have you seen my colleague, by chance? Middle-aged man, medium height, brown jacket, bald spot."

"What are you doing waiting around here?"

Alternative wording

"What are you doing waiting around in the rain?

Alternative wording

"What are you doing waiting around in this weather?"

Alternative wording

"What are you doing waiting around in the dark?"

Alternative wording

"What are you doing waiting around here?"

Alternative wording

"What are you doing waiting around in the dark?"

"Me? I'm simply a stranded passenger, waiting on his aero-tram."

"Thanks for your help." [Leave]

"I'm just out for a walk."

"Ah, sorry to bother you madam. I suppose not everyone is stranded here like myself."