Repetition Island

The man had been told that he needed a travel document in order to leave and return. After many months wait, the appointment notice arrived. The last digit of his postal code had been blurred and, and, as a result, on receiving the notice it was already overdue. He would have to obtain a new appointment. The notice contained no return address but in fine print on the bottom of the page a telephone number was listed with the proviso: “We will provide information. It will not be free of charge.” The cost-per-minute for the information was not specified but it would be automatically billed on his next telephone statement. He made the call. After many prompts, an automated recording advised that it would be up to the discretion of the appropriate office to accommodate his request. He pressed “2” for more information and learned that, due to security measures, the contact information for this office had been de-listed. He would have to present himself in person at Central Office in the capital. He arrived at Central Office early on a Tuesday morning. Years have now passed and he no longer recalls the nature of his original request. In turn, the officers of the central office hold no information as to his identity. Internally, they have taken to calling the man Mardi based on the record of his arrival in the queue. The line is in the form of a giant Moebius strip and every time the man thinks he might be at the head of it, he finds himself once again at the end. He now calls this endless queue his home, and lovingly refers to it as Repetition Island, for the queue itself is now the only recognizable pattern to his life.