Beirut, Bogota, New York, Almaty. We sat in the bar after work flicking through jobs on the transfer list. Someone had brought a highlighter pen and was marking the salaries in fluorescent green. Another was counting the vacancies, "...two hundred and twenty six, two hundred and twenty seven. Look at this, there are fifteen jobs here. It must either be massive or shit". Two people were talking about Portugal or maybe Milan, one laughed at a description of a school's great students. "That means they'll be out-of-control," she said in a voice that suggested too much knowledge. The highlighter pen settled on Costa Rica. "I'm getting sick of these post-communist countries," came a voice from the far end of the table. "I dunno, there are plenty of jobs in Poland." "Eeeeuurgh, it's grotty." "Not everywhere it isn't. Where did you go?" "I've never been."
"How about you? Seen anything you fancy?" someone asked, turning to me. "No, not really," I replied, thinking once again about Japan.
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