Escape from Canada
I’ve been watching the skies lately. Looking for drones. So far so good. Or so I think. I feel like a hunted refugee now that I slipped back into the Yew Ess Aye without stopping at U.S. Customs. The Canadians detained me a few days ago, for the serious offense of walking into their country to ask them a few questions I couldn’t get online or by phone. They made it clear THEY would ask the questions, not me, and after a lot of theirs, I pretty much knew mine weren’t going to get asked, much less answered.
After the waterboarding they realized my smuggling vehicle was safely out of their reach — back in America, nothing much they could do. Finally they ran out of forms and further interrogation tactics. Obviously I wasn’t going to talk. “Get out,” one of the agents finally said. “Go back home.” He handed me my truck keys and said leave the way you came in —- on foot. The man with the holstered gun at the car booth opened his bullet proof glass door and commanded I go through U.S. Customs.
I smelled a trap. They might be finished with me, but the NSA, frustrated over a futile ‘rendition’, certainly wouldn’t be. And if the Canadians,usually polite, had been rough with me, what in Orwell’s name would the gringos have in store? Like the fugitive song says, Indiana wants me, Lord, I can’t go back there. I cut up to a park restroom, slipped inside, steeled myself, then bootlegged out of there up through a rhododendron grove, across the petunia beds and the last open stretch of concrete to my truck. I didn’t sprint. Just strolled nonchalantly, even chatted with a man walking his beagle, reached the truck, unlocked it, waited a moment for sirens, bubble lights, stormtroopers exiting the rear of the assault trucks, a bullhorn : EXIT THE VEHICLE, MR. DADDLE, WITH HANDS IN THE AIR. DO IT NOW!
Nothing. Sweet nothing. I turned the key, put it in gear and drove through downtown Blaine and on to the interstate, southbound. I went home, packed a bag. I’m at an undisclosed location as I write this. No cell, no credit card transactions, far far away from these post 9-11 goons we’ve unleashed to ‘protect’ us. Innocence is an arachaic term now. We’re all guilty. The real question is Guilty of What?
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