Between Wars.

I was a member of an army of drivers who were getting boys into Canada at the height of the War In Vietnam. These were secrets then. Vietnam in 1967 was a death sentence. As a dead man, no one wanted to know you. Keep your head down in the rain. We did not speak. That was how it was constructed. I could not know them, and they could not know me. All I wanted was to get us there. We crossed over, and I drove right to the strip mall we used to move people around. They get out, and I pull away. That was it. It was always in the return to the States that they wanted to look inside my asshole in the hope of finding drugs. The drugs were in the car behind me. But the focus was on my person. All they ever found were empty potato chip bags between the seats.