Now they've opened a point of crossing. After barbed wire, guns, the jagged words, sentries exchange cigarettes, wave travelers through. But the people waiting in line are tourists, wear hats, sunscreen, clutch passports in any color but native. To cross, you need documentation, proof. A man has been waiting six years in the vacancy between borders.
Sky rims the curve of ocean opaque as the mountains mapping the colors of salt.
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