Not to be overdramatic...

I have just touched down in Boston after 48 hours of travel. I look and smell hideous. The drug dogs stopped me - probably because I smell like goat. The customs guy let me in despite bright red marks put on my papers at passport control - probably mostly out of pity.

And all I can think of are the words on the Statue of Liberty which take on new meaning when you actually are the wretched refuse from a teeming shore:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. "Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"