Thirty-three-year-old Rad Saveljic spoke loudly into his cell phone. “Did you hear back from Sunoco?” asked his fiancée. “Have I told you about the monkeys?” asked Rad, ignoring her question. “Ah, yeah. You told me about the monkeys.” “Did I tell you they bite? One started following me last night.” “Weird.” “Really weird.” The driver of the motorized three-wheeled rickshaw Rad was in cut off a guy riding a scooter. What the hell, he thought. Even in Elizabeth, New Jersey—his hometown—that would have been a risky move. “What about Sunoco?” asked his fiancée. “I talked with the New York office—they won’t do a phone interview.” Rad was a project manager for the oil company BP. But ever since BP had assigned him to India, he’d been looking for a new job. So he’d applied to Sunoco, hoping he’d be offered a position somewhere closer to home. He missed his fiancée, Mets games, decent cable TV, and his local hot dog stand. He supposed India was fine if you were an Indian, but he wasn’t.
