crossing borders

I watched the border guard flip through my notes, reading and straining to read the details.
Why are you traveling in someone else's car?
I borrow it to see my girlfriend.
Where'd you meet her?
The girlfriend or the owner of this car.
The girlfriend.
Where I work, at the museum.
Why does she let you use her car?
(Have you seen the car dipshit? It's an '89 rust covered shitbox. I bought it but she registered it because it is cheaper. I don't want a car really but my girlfriend got cancer so I made it happen.)
Because I need it to see my girlfriend. I cross about every other week in this car. Is there a way I can avoid this? Is there a way I can avoid this type of treatment?
Cross in your own car.
Right.

Fuck it, I read where the guard read. The guard is a woman.
"One heel underneath her ass comes the tomb. One heel and we are sunk. An Indian (the Eastern Bunch) and a cyst, the growing kind, the ones that have a dabble, we're here, we're born. Baby I DO LOVE YOU but do you see me, can you see me? Do you have the purpose and the pardon. All of your superficial interests are gone and done. You are done. As sure as cancer has told you, you are done and we are afloat. We are the memory of you. You are the memory of we. I hate Romantics more than sentimentalists. We are cooked together in the witches stew. WE are entropimentalists." -- "Tell Z, move thru - bend the branches"