The Bureau of Transportation is housed at the end of a one-way dead-end street, and consequently no one has ever come back from it to inform the driving public. On the roof of the Bureau is a helicopter pad, by means of which the Minister of Transportation comes and goes. If I fall in love, I will be sure to fall in love with the Minister. If it turns out like my previous affairs, I will comfort myself with the knowledge that I should have obeyed the traffic laws.