1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9

A man with a moustache was waiting for me at the exit of the transit zone. I recognized him immediately by the sign he was holding. A sign in white and red mentioning “Braintec”. I moved uncertainly towards this man, ‘coss I could always decide to walk straight past him with in cold blood. Then I would be free at once.

A short eye contact was enough for the man with the moustache to recognize me so there was no reason to play unknown. He took over my luggage and shouted in my ear. “Welcome to Portland. Follow me!” In his car he introduced himself as John, John McKenzie. He is an assistant of Braintec, a jack-of-all-trades. He seems to be okay, just like all the Americans, but that might not be his true nature. I don’t like men with moustaches. They always have something to hide.

My room seems to be just fine. It is bigger than I suspected and it has its own little bathroom. Just like a hotel. They kindly leave me alone for a couple of hours, after I’ve endured the necessary greetings. First I will take a long shower, put my clothes in the wardrobe and look how much television cannels I can get. Then, after my guided tour through the building and the mandatory shaking of hands, I’ll ask around for a plug adapter. I’ll need one for my computer; the batteries are almost empty.