Into the lovin' arms: Ft Worth, TX, USA

As the itinerary had it, flying in to Dallas-Fort Worth left me with two plus hours of playtime before going to my final destination, PDX.

Time in which I thought I could do some field study on Dallas anthropology and maybe, just maybe hit the Southfork Ranch.

That time however in the Lone Star state was spent in the confinement of terminals in which I stood queue after queue for immigrations and security checks.

Batting my eyelashes didn't make anything faster. MIGUEL didn't find it cute. That's fo' sure.

Am I American? Well, yeah. But I'm not a resident. So are you a tourist? Well, I suppose I am. But where do you live? In London. What is your purpose to be here? Well, to visit friends and family in Portland. For how long? What items did you bring? What is the value of these items? Besides 16oz of cocaine Sir, I have some Monty Python DVDs, British literature, and an avocado from the Portobello Market.

Dallas Fort Worth is a Gaza. One might presume that LAX and JFK could also be rigorous entry points to the Tis of Thee, but I think Texas takes the cake in American welcome wagons, full of talking-down, racial profilin', read between the lines boy!

There was a live announcement carrying on in the front of the masses from behind a checkpoint.

"People! I'm not going to say it again. Take off everything! Even if it has made it through other airport security checks before, this is new equipment and it's very sensitive!"

His small pale stature compensated in his twangy locution.

Whilst in one line, a young black man hopped in the First Class queue before tripping over the clothesline and asking the man behind me where he was supposed to stand. To which the poncy white man in a grey golf sweatshirt on which said 'Tee time' answered, "That's business, first class."

"Oh, guess I'm in the wrong place."

"Yeah, you belong here with the rest of us."

The young man picks up his large duffel bag and hops over to our side and throws it down. I notice that he's standing on one leg. "Man, I shouldn't have to stand in line for this, I'm a soldier...I just got back from Iraq."

Tee time is taken back and changes his register. "You were serving there?"

"Uh huh. Civilian. I got injured, so I was returned."

"Would you go back if asked?"

Without any moment's hesitation, "Yup."

There's a formidable pause. My eyes are on the carpet. I had a hundred questions and didn't know how to throw the first pitch. He was flesh in blood, not clippings from the front pages.

Tee time found his words first and he said humbly, "Well, thank you."

The injured soldier hopped forward and chuckles, "You're welcome man. That's what I do."

We move forward in line.