Finally, the man arrived at his destination.  A decrepit phone booth towered before him.  The man wedged the door open, and his lanky silhouette disappeared into the plexiglass coffin.

The walls were littered with the graffiti of revolutionaries.  Fishing in his pockets, the man encountered the weight of loose change.  He plunged a quarter into the loins of the phone and lifted the receiver.  He dialed a foreign number.  After an eternity, a foreign voice answered.

“Yes?” the voice asked.

The man tried to formulate his response, but his throat was not prepared for speech.  Eventually, his vocal chords lubricated, and he spoke:

“I’m searching for the Captin.”