English, he thought. But it seemed a little strange; he could detect no foreign attributes in her appearance. She looked, by all accounts, American. Harold shrugged to himself. Maybe she was European. He got up slowly, stretching himself out. The woman walked a few steps, and opened the door, motioning toward outside. Harold looked out of one of the small windows, trying to get a sense of where he was. But it was dark out, and all that could be seen were the lights of the runway, the towers, and a white building up ahead - which was obviously the airport, he decided. He wondered how long the flight had taken. But as he looked at his wrist, he realized he wasn’t wearing his watch. Did he leave it at home? He wondered. He hadn’t remembered taking it off.

“Excuse me,” he said, clearing his vo...

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