We went to a Basketball game the other day (Go the Breakers..), and were waiting a while out in the cold. I was in the process of writing this one, but got too busy. In case you were wondering, New Zealand is not a communist country (yet)

The Game

The icy wind blasted across the stark grey square, buffeting the small gathering that was beginning to congregate. Cold air from the subantarctic swirled in gusts, one second wafting through the razor wire atop the pale smooth concrete walls surrounding the square, then suddenly blowing yesterday's newspaper in a mini vortex around the car park.

"Be there at 1900 hours sharp" was the instructions, be at the western packet arena. "something must have happened" muttered Nathivich, his eyes scanning the area most likely to be the approach of the organizational party who were coming in from the eastern part of the city. "they've still got 5 minutes" mentioned Johnofski, glancing at his digital watch, "They'll be here soon....."

Across the sprawl somewhere in Bloc F - a suburb that once housed the "oppressive class", but now housed mainly CDHB, ECAN, or CCC employees, Andropov stumbled back to his car, fumbling with the keys in the frigid air. A wheelie bin salesman since he returned from doing his service for Mother Aotearoa in the Navy (the Airforce would have been his first choice, but it never really recovered from the sale of all its fighter planes way back at the turn of the century).