‘Don’t give up!’ the flyer said. Just those three words, in large, bold print, plus a phone number. She found it in the basket of her bicycle when she left work. It was printed on pale pink paper. Give up what, she wondered. She hadn’t been planning on giving anything up. She looked around at the other bikes but could see no more leaflets scattered about. Could someone have left it specifically for her? Her bike was in the middle of two rows of cycle racks, and it seemed unlikely the leaflet could have been discarded there. Maybe it had been dropped by the wind. It felt like a trap, some sort of advertising gimmick. Taking out her phone she dialled the number, thinking she’d give someone a piece of her mind. ‘Thank you for calling,’ a computerised voice said. ‘All our operators are busy right now, but we value your call and someone will be with you as soon as possible. Please, don’t give up.’ This was followed by twenty seconds of muzak, then the same message was repeated. She was starting to get annoyed. How long did they expect her to hang on? She listened to the message several times more. Maybe it was some sort of endurance test. She looked at the leaflet again, wondering what she should do. ‘Don’t give up,’ the automated voice said.