Elaine

A Japanese restaurant on the strip mall of a small town and the waitress, who has been serving us patiently, gives us our check.  Her dark hair is tied back.  A smile creeps across her face as I ask my question.  Her mother (despite the lack of any oriental heritage) wanted to give her the middle-name of a Japanese perfume brand.  Her older brother objected and her mother changed her plans.

She tells me she doesn't mind but that it doesn't go well with her others.  'Not like those people who have movie-star sounding names', she says.  Her initials spell 'EEC'.

Frank Trevor

In a Spanish bar there are pinatas of different shapes and sizes hanging from the ceiling.  A small man with a guitar and high shoulders sings as he wanders amongst the tables.  Whilst tipping him, I attempt to ask my question but neither his English nor my Spanish is sufficiently up-to-scratch.

Instead I ask the doorman on the way out.  He wears a camel-coloured corduroy jacket and has dark hair that flops over his forehead.  He is pleased to be able to give me two.  The first is after his godfather and the second because his mum liked it.

'Will that do for two days?' he asks.  I tell him that's against the rules but thank him for his help.

* (asterisk)

'Look at that rainbow, man', says a man standing on the corner of the street.  He is wearing a leather jacket with black jeans and smart shoes.  His hair is dark.  I look.  There is an impressive arched rainbow in the sky.  'It's been ages since I saw a double one', he says.

Realising that at the end of the rainbow might be a middle name, I ask my question.  'I don't have one, man', he says.  'I made one up though'.  He explains his original choice.  'I just chose it to be annoying', he says.  He tells me his has been to England once on a date; 'Just to go to a music festival, drop acid and stuff', he says.

He asks what I have seen in the city.  'You gotta go to Dolores Park', he says.  'It's where people go chill out, play music, get high and stuff', he says.  He also recommends a tea shop ('You drink tea, right?') where you can get a really good cup of black tea for ten dollars.  I tell him that I prefer PG Tips.

Nicole

It is late and I approach a group of strangers in the street.  I apologise for the interruption and explain myself.  The girl standing closest to me with a red coat and matching lipstick gives me an answer.  I put out my hand as a gesture of thanks.  She shakes it.  I leave them to it.

Lorraine

At breakfast I the dining car I am sat opposite a middle-aged couple from Pittsburgh.  The strap of her handbag remains over her shoulder throughout the meal.  He wears a baseball cap.  They are crossing the country to visit their daughter.  On the train for the same amount of time as me, they have invested in a sleeper cabin.

We eat eggs, croissants and as much coffee as we can drink.  We discuss Sierra Nevada, the London Olympics, Andy Warhol and Worthing.

Ten hours later, at our destination, I bump into the lady on the platform.  She is still wearing her handbag.  We congratulate each other on our powers of endurance.  I explain my resolution.  She gives me an answer.

'At least that saves you approaching a stranger on the street today', she says.  I agree.

Dee

Twenty-nine hours into a train journey, I sit in the observation car with a small can of Budweiser and watch as the desert passes by.  A girl on an adjacent seat asks if I know where we are.  I don't but we strike up a conversation.  She is the daughter of a horse farmer from Kentucky and we are headed for the same destination.

We get another drink, some nuts and hummus and talk about America.  We move onto the question of international relations, the stranglehold of capitalism and her brother's engagement to a girl who treats him badly.  At a city famous for Mormons, we take a walk along the platform and enjoy some fresh air.

The desert turns to black, the snack bar closes and we head back to our seats to attempt some sleep.

Khosro

Having left plenty of time, I find myself wandering the streets in danger of missing my train.  It is beginning to rain.  I hail a cab.  'Union station?', I say.  'Of course', the driver replies.  I pile my bags into the back.

'I got lost', I say.  'I don't know where I am'.  The driver shakes his head.  'You should never say that to me', he says.  'I'll take you for a ride'.  He is tanned with grey hair.  'Please don't take me for a ride', I say.  He laughs.  'Of course I would never do that', he says.

Originally from 'Persian Iran', he moved to America twenty-one years ago.  I ask if he likes Chicago.  'I like it for holidays', he says, 'but when you have to make money no place is fun anymore'.

We approach the station.  It is not far.  'I drop you at the back so I don't have to do any monkey business', he says.  I agree that monkey business doesn't sound like a good idea.

As I pay, I ask my question.  'Ken', he says.  'That doesn't sound very Iranian', I say.  'Ah', he replies, 'you don't want to know my real middle name'.  I assure him that I do.  He gives me an answer and I repeat after him.  He corrects my pronunciation and gives me a spelling.  'He was a king', he says.  'Look him up'.

(I do look him up and the closest that the internet provides is Kai Kosrow, a legendary king from the Persian epic, Shahnameh.  His father was killed by his maternal grandmother and, as a child, he was trained in the desert by a wise vizier.  A popular king, he was not fond of the trappings of monarchy and gave much of his wealth away to widows, orphans, the sick and poor.  To his successor he offered the advice, 'Lohrasb! The King is like the water and can clean the things but if itself becomes embarrassed then nothing could become clean!')