Be patient Mr. Navorski
I’m going back home
But yet stands frozen 
Beyond those doors, is American soil
As he says that, the doors close
America is closed

Dark and loud in here
The screen shows a sleepy town
Soldiers marching through
A single white flag hanging out of an upper window
Strains to hear as the doors close
This is a private club

She’s in her own world
Entranced by her unexpected beauty
She smiles at him. He smiles back awkwardly
She starts walking, he follows
Searches for something, anything to say

They go off arm in arm
Viktor crushed, watches them leave
Unable to keep their hands off each other
Viktor, dejected, starts walking back home across the concourse

People want to get through here as fast as they can
People like you are stopping everyone from making money
After a minute, he glances over at Viktor
Viktor doesn’t answer

Looks at his ticket 
There was no one waiting for me back home
Viktor stops
Certain people might miss you
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