A fugitive from Mexico.

I woke up to the hustle and noise happening around me. I had slept for an hour, maybe two, or perhaps even 24. I hadn't slept or eaten properly for, maybe, two or even three days. My sleep-deprived mind couldn't tell me where I was. I could only assume I was somewhere right on the border with Mexico... somewhere in the middle of the American desert. Probably Arizona. It's just like in the Wild West movies. I'm sure you've seen it. A rocky brown desert with the horizon visible only in the distance. Why did we stop? And who is this man in a cowboy hat? Only a minute later did I realize that this cowboy had come for me, and I was under the intense scrutiny of all the bus passengers. Probably only the driver wasn't involved. I feel like a sleep-deprived lab rat. That's it, we've arrived. Caught. Grabbed. They'll probably tie me up and make soup out of me now. I need to tell them I don't taste good. The train of my tragic thoughts is interrupted by the cowboy.

-hello.

-hello, I reply.

All the passengers on my cosmic greyhound bus have long known that the strange young man (that's me) flew in from Russia, so no one, except for my newfound friend, wonders why I have an accent.

A little later, I find out that the cowboy isn't a cowboy at all, but a border patrol officer. And I fell under suspicion because I look like a Mexican migrant. And all he needs are my documents.

Am I really that similar to a Mexican migrant?

Trying to put on the sweetest smile on Earth, I take all the documents I have out of my backpack. I hand them over without removing my idiotic smile. After a long check, the border guard is convinced that I am not a Mexican migrant, but for extra certainty, he asks a couple of questions. Or rather, he fires them off like a machine gun, so fast that my childish mind can't grasp what this hulking body wants from me. I, of course, without removing my new American smile from my face, very politely and obligingly ask again what he wants. A dumb show. A conversation between two idiots. The situation is resolved by a third person, Joe. I met him the day before yesterday, but today this “FBI agent” knows everything about me. Joe explains what's what, and the border guard returns my documents. Applause. The passengers finished watching the show and went back to their business. Someone finishing their hamburger, someone reading, and someone trying to bother me with their questions. My new Latin American friend sat down next to me too. It seemed like she had been rooting for me the whole time. Somewhere at the other end of the bus. After many words about what a good job I did and that everything will be fine, our bus sets off on its journey to finally conquer the rocky desert.