The Alicia Revolution

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I left the United States about two steps ahead of my creditors, and one step behind financial ruin. I gazed around the grimy, rundown airport in the capital city of Thusbammanna, and wasn’t sure if I had come out ahead in the deal.

I made it through immigration with no problem. The passport official gave me a funny look, but I ignored it. American tourists probably attract a lot of curiosity in these tattered Third World countries.

The luggage rack was about ten feet away, but that didn’t mean that my bags appeared quickly. It took twenty minutes or more, which is ridiculous, considering my plane was the only one that had arrived. I grabbed my bags in pure exasperation, and turned to find customs and the car rental counters. I almost ran into a uniformed official.

“Excuse me,” I said, and started to go around him. He moved to block me, and I saw two burly guards behind him. Uh-oh.

“What’s going on?” I asked apprehensively.

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