I am visiting a friend, and while walking his dog, we visit the bridge at Skopje.
We have to queue.
A middle class woman pushes in front of me. Once inside, I am given moss coloured over-trousers to wear. These will stop the tunnel discolouring my clothes.
I lie down, and an official injects me. To pass through this tunnel you must be asleep, as it’s very narrow, and a conveyor belt takes you through. I lose consciousness.
On the other side, I wake up.
Chinese ads for windsurfing are everywhere.
I look at how tiny the tunnel is, amazed we fit through it. I wonder why it’s called a bridge. My friend calls over to me. I wave back, gagging on the aftertaste of the anaesthetic.