"How long are you staying?", "How much cash do you have on you?", "Where are you staying?", "We need an address?", "What is your employment?", "What are your intentions?", "How much money do you have in your bank account?" "Have a seat for further questioning", hammered the British customs agent at London Heathrow Airport. My mind was dull but it was racing. It was an overnight flight (across the pond) from DC to London via an Iceland stopover. I was looking past the customs agent in anticipation to meet Cecilia, my ex-girlfriend whom I hadn't seen in several years. I was taken into custody. Luggage searched. Fingerprinted and interrogated. I was offered tea by the lovely English. After a few hours and an interview, it was deduced by the agent that I would be politely denied
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