musing silently among the wicked + tribute

9 am. i find myself in the UNHCR-Amman "lobby", staring at nothing in particular, waiting for salvation.
The lobby is a shed connected to a hall, at the end of which is a corridor containing the interview rooms. i stare into nothing in particular.
a hundred other faces stare back at me. they all carry the same blank expression.
we all have stories to tell.
they all have the same ingredient, with optional additives:

someone was killed. something got taken. a raid here. an militia there.
add to taste and stir for 4 years.

the untouchables.
that's what we are. and not in a good sense either.

i'm there to apply for the refugee program.

my main reason?
being identified officially as a refugee protects me from deportation.

you see, no residency for this old boy, so no guarantees that my ass won't be hauled back "home" at the first random checkpoint. its unlikely mind you, but NOT impossible.
now, i can stop worrying about that, and start thinking about other things, like what color socks will i wear when i go to my uncle's house for his daughter's birthday.

well, not yet anyway, the interview went normally, i am given a "get out of jail free" paper, temporary, until i am called to be interviewed again, and maybe probably be given a permanent one.

its 12 pm. for the first time in many months, i can walk freely, mind unfettered.

i decide against going to my uncle's house.
i don't like going out much.

----

NOTE:
ALL PAY TRIBUTE TO LORD INDIA
HALLOWED TITAN OF ANTIQUITY;
PROTECTOR OF SCANDAVIAN VIRGINITY;
HE OF THE XBOX AFFINITY;
etc etc.
or something like it, anyway ;)

(see Indy man? i told u i'll make a proper dedication and everything, not that you can call that proper, honestly, but hey, its better than nothing!)

and Lynnette:
SEE? here's a post!
:D
not a "real" one i know.
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