His face in the passport says it all.

His face in the passport says it all. Anxious, worried, strained, manic stare. A bit of a slant in the head, not framed properly. The look of a man in a hurry. Feeling guilty and stupid. A complete fool.

On the day he has to fly across the Atlantic to the US, early in the morning, after dumping his heavy luggage on the boot of the car which is going to take him to the railway station where he will catch a train to the airport, a few hours before a long day of airplanes and airports starts, he checks his passport, only to find with a shock it has expired.

He knows it at once. He's screwed the whole thing up. Not much of a challenge a realization, though.

Cold sweat. Pressure. Confusion. Panic. A compromise he has acquired at risk. People waiting for him, and no ordinary people, people he has to please, to rely on, to depend upon. His hand grips the knob of a door these people had the faculty to open to let him come inside to try and tread with trembling steps the beginning of a long path of unknown length to secure a future still to unfold. As futures always do for that matter, when the time finally arrives. He keeps a firm hold of that elusive handle. White-knuckled he knows he has to keep gripping.

There is nothing else to do but to proceed as if everything was still alright. Somehow hoping for a mending, fate miraculously producing a brand new valid passport in no time. Fixing it all with a snap of its mighty fingers.

A cab gives him a ride from the station to his first airport of many where he makes some phone calls. Yes, my passport has expired … I didn't check earlier … I know I should've done it … tell them to wait for me … I'm trying to get there. Imagine to be woken up by a phone ring to hear such pathetic babble.

In the police office of the airport he is informed he can possibly get a valid passport at the corresponding police office of the airport he is next heading for, a hub for transoceanic flights. A bit of relief, infinitesimal, fearing Kafka's play may take the lead on the matter in the next move.

He already carries the photos with him, taken at the first booth he found, at the railway station back in his hometown. A portrait reflecting the anxiety of the moment, stupidity written in the eyes of the man, a slant visible in his empty head. Four identical stares, four identical slants, four identical portraits.

At the next airport he can indeed get a valid passport. The procedure itself is fast, taking about ten minutes. The waiting is long. Who would have thought there could be so many people going through the same embarrassing step. The waiting is only a bit much too long. He misses his flight.

At the check-in counter an American Airlines employee informs him he is in the waiting list for tomorrow's flight. There are some chances he may fly, provided a volunteer gives up a seat for some compensation. A bus takes him to a nearby hotel where he checks in for the night.

Early in the morning the next day he leans against the same desk. Passengers are queueing in and the procedures to board on the plane have just started. A good-looking woman his age is in the same situation, expecting to find her personal volunteer. She lost the connecting flight yesterday. It was not her fault. She comes from Taiwan and is heading to L.A. where she has been living for the last ten years. She works as a teacher for special education students. She loves her job.

A bond is made out of the blue. They're both stranded. They become a unique and peculiar team.

They can only wait for the boarding to finish and see what comes next. They chat all along about trivial matters to keep their minds away from the anxiety of the moment. He digs out the bits he knows about Taiwan - Formosa, and the Portuguese, shoe factories, and the China Sea, and Chiang Kai-shek, that no-good, low-down dirty rat who used to order his troops to fire on the women and children imagine that imagine that. He can tell she is impressed. Song lyrics coming handy to ease their wait. He keeps the source to himself.

After a while the long queue is history and they are the only two people left by the boarding desk. Just when getting on the plane seems unlikely a seat becomes vacant. Just one. Dammit. She doesn't let him a chance, he should take it. He does it, accepting her kind gesture with graceless shame. He walks a little walk along the finger, much too embarrassed to turn back for a final wave of good luck with his hands, steps down the stairs and gets on a bus. The doors close behind him and the bus sets out to meet the plane. He is the very last passenger to board on the flight.

Take off is way behind schedule. His is a window seat, at the rear of the plane. To his surprise the seat next to him is empty. Time ticks away heavily. He can't relax. About ten minutes later he sees her walking along the aisle towards him, a big grin across her face. She has made it too she says with a nervous laugh, and sits next to him. Two volunteers won't be flying home that day.

Over the ocean they tell each other the story of their lives, watch a movie and have lunch. She drinks tea. Coffee for him. No cream. No sugar. She falls asleep. Her head slips down the back of her seat to his left shoulder. A stewardess smiles at him. He breathes normally.

After going through customs they exchange addresses and laugh a bit looking back on their little experience. The anxiety at the departure gate seems so distant it strikes them as almost unreal. They check the gates of their domestic flights and bid each other a fond farewell. A handshake and a few smiles later their spontaneous bond seems unlikely to linger on.