dazed and confused

Digbeth coach station, 2 am. A group of teenagers hustle round the coach driver as the bags are loaded. Distracted, one slips past and, hood up, slides into an empty seat. It's dark and most of the other passengers are asleep, muddled through tiredness or the effort of managing this journey in an alien language, through an alien landscape. The driver climbs the stairs slowly, examining each passenger, shining his torch into their faces. Tension. He reaches the boy and stands over him, waiting. 'Don't even think about it.' he says, and the boy gets up and leaves.

Milan airport, 1 pm. Two airport officials circle the departure lounge. 'India?!' they shriek, 'Passport!' The small group look up bemused from their conversations, fumbling in bags and pockets for their documents once again.

São Paulo airport, 7.30 am. Early morning passengers shuffle through security checks. Six Mormon boys, in identikit suits, with matching bags and metal name-badges identifying them as Elder Smith or Elder Sanchez, re-organise their luggage in the queue. Separated by the line, they wait quietly for each other, papers for the immigration crumpled in their hands.