The curtain rises on a young man, Jamie, sitting alone, reading on a train platform that is desolate except for the one Spanish paramilitary patrolling.
Paramilitary: Aienaoatuchnnctiaonvnoerw anoeivn aoienvea? (Pointing at Jamie’s backpack. Writer’s note: the unintelligible scribbling in this line is poking fun at the unintelligible, ancient Basque language.)
Jamie: What? (Sliding the backpack towards the paramilitary)
Paramilitary: Can I see your bag?
Jamie: Yes. Of course.
Paramilitary: Where are you going? (Rooting through the backpack)
Jamie: To Hendaia, to buy a train ticket to France. And then I’ll come back here. And leave tomorrow to France.
Paramilitary: How long have you been here?
Jamie: Three days.
(Jamie becomes increasingly concerned that he might ask for his passport, which he does not have.)
Paramilitary: How long in Spain? Where have you been?
Jamie: One or two weeks. I went to Barcelona, Valencia. I went to visit a friend in Madrid and then here.
(Jamie is at the peak of nervousness at this point, heart racing, terrified he might have to bribe the gruff Paramilitary)
Paramilitary: Ah. Lots of fun. Are you alone? (At this point the Paramiltary’s tone shifts to friendly)
Paramilitary: Do you LIKE traveling alone? (With a bewildered tone, appearing flabbergasted at the notion of traveling alone)
Jamie: It’s alright.
Paramilitary: Do you like Spain?
Jamie: Yes. It’s beautiful.
Paramilitary: I think so too. Have a nice trip.