A pillar-box red Hay Festival Press book containing a short story by Ariel Dorfman.
'You're in luck,' said the officer. '1973 is also departing from Gate D. They'll let you through.' The man signalled vaguely towards Orlando's belongings. 'You can pick up your stuff. Can't use the cell phone till you're out of this area.' And then added, before turning those bruised, hurt eyes on the next victim, a lanky black male with pants that trailed beneath his sneakers, dreadlocks that shook as if he were dancing, 'Good luck.'
Orlando was going to need it. Orlando's belt kept getting caught in the snap of the carry-on bag and the computer didn't seem to fit and the shoelaces wouldn't obey the orders emanating from Orlando's fingers and Karina, of course, didn't answer the phone...