The Fugative

A customs officer escorts a young frenchman onto the plane. He’s dressed in a black coat and pants and carries a satchel. He shakes a bit and looks pale. They sit him down on the plane right behind us, I can see the stewardesses gossiping about him in the front. He shifts in his seat, looking pretty uncomfortable. Great, I think, thats going to be me, he’s probably in some band.

The flight from philly to paris takes 7 or 8 hours. I watch Whip It, Eragon, and Beverly Hills Chihuahua. Sleep some. We arrive in paris at 7am and some officials are there to escort him off the plane. We get our bags and wait in the customs line. When I get there the customs officer stamps my passport and hands it back without even looking at me. “Merci.”