I was walking through customs at Vancouver International, answering the usual gamut of questions. It was late. The lengthy layover in Portland spent on pumpkin ales had left me lethargic, and given to perfunctory responses.
“Where were you?”
“What were you doing there?”
“How did that go for you?”
The vagary of the question woke something up in my brain, and I paused while it whirred up to life. I answered thoughtfully, at length:
“You know, not that badly, actually….”
Looking skeptical but satisfied that I wasn’t lying, the officer waved me through.
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