Boredomline

There are heavy bags under my eyes. They pull my face downwards, inviting me to kiss the ground.

"What's in the bags?" a mustachioed customs officer drills me with his eyes.

"Nothing illegal Sir, I assure you. A couple of sleepless nights, a few nagging thoughts."

"Open 'em up!"

"Oh please, how am I supposed to do that? Couldn't you just put me through one of your scanners?"

"X-rays are bad for your health," a several-inch-long auger surfaces from his pocket, and he hands it to me.

"Tell it to my dentist," I mutter silently. Aloud: "Am I supposed to bore myself?"

"Go ahead. We'll help you uproot those unhealthy thoughts that are plaguing you."

More and more officers started gathering around us. Some had guns. All looked encouraging.

"Can you offer at least an anesthetic injection or something?"

My interlocutor reaches with his hand into the pocket and retrieves a syringe. With a friendly smile, he hands it to me.

"Is it truth serum?" I ask.

The officer's friendly face mask disappears; he frowns. Now he looks menacing.

"Go ahead! Now!"

"I want my lawyer!" I start to panic. Of course, I do.

"Ha. Ha. Your lawyer wanted his lawyer too, and his lawyer wanted his. Welcome home, jerk!"