It’s about midnight. It’s raining. A small group is huddled around a lonely roadside cafe somewhere near the border between Poland and Ukraine, getting wet in the drizzle, sharing cartons of chips and bottles of beer.
One of the bedraggled men wonders out loud why on earth the owner of the cafe would choose to close now, when surely this must have been the busiest it has ever been, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, with a captive and hungry audience.
