The dark window of an official vehicle slowly slid down and the pale face of the Minister’s driver peered out like eyes over sunglasses. The Minister has an urgent meeting! What is the route to the Council? he asked.
Turn right at the square, replied the local woman.
Fifteen minutes later the Minister’s car appeared again, from behind her, and the dark window rolled down once more: We’ve circled the entire neighborhood! There is no signage, the road is pitted, delinquent children threw stones at us, the windshield shattered and the car filled with the stench of rubbish, and now we are right outside the Council building! Why did you not say it was here?
You did not ask where it was, she answered. You asked what the route was.