A dumpy specimen of a man tosses his loose belongings into a bucket to pass outside the 8-foot detector. His hunched shoulders and forward jutting neck twitch in the self question. "By what account did I? Ehh." A cross. Intertwined palm trees. Photographs. Guitars. Two weeks. A few words. The guard pens through the bucket items, pointing out to her partner the presence of the trees.
"Ridiculous. Paradise?"
"Yeah, did he really think? . . ." says the guard to her partner.
The man stands wide-eyed at both guards but at the same time not, breathing the long breaths of a time spent much too much long gasping.
"Uh oh yes, you may pass through now" replies the guard with extra-thick smarm. The dumpy man drags feet across the detector with no beep. Ahead he sees nothing. Behind him the haze of something less. He picks up the items with timid hands and dumps them unceremoniously into his chest pocket. The guard asks "Mr. Scarborough is there anything you'd like to? . . ."
Without looking back he drags his feet forward, head jutting towards the nothing, and walks the slouch on saying "You can tell the world it can go fuck itself."
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