Last weekend Swim travelled to South Padre Island with some booze, an eighth of green, and a small pipe. Much fun was had on the beach drinking beer, swimming in the surf, and doing a bit of blazing. After a relaxing weekend, swim began the drive back with some leftover liquor and some leftover pot in the hold. Fact: South Padre is located only a few miles from the U.S.-Mexico border at Brownsville. Fact: Only two major highways run north from the border, and I am travelling on one of them. Fifty miles into his return trip north, swim notices a U.S. Border Patrol inspection checkpoint half mile in front of him on the road. I did not know about this checkpoint, but he's not that worried at first, because he is an anglo (white) U.S. citizen and probably looks reasonably clean to law enforcement officers. There are not any Phish or Grateful Dead stickers on swim's bumper. As Swim approaches the large metal shed, he sees several agents milling around wearing green uniforms. One of them has a german shepherd on a leash. Before a car is waved through the checkpoint, the dog takes a lap around the car sniffing the perimeter of the vehicle. If the dog catches the scent of any smuggled items, you are BUSTO! I have at least a gram or two in the trunk of his car, inside a plastic baggie. The baggie is inside a small tupperware container. The tupperware container is in an open cardboard bag. The bag is resting just inside the edge of the closed trunk of swim's car. As Swim approaches the front of the queue, he punches the button to roll down the window. Swim's heart surges and his throat tightens as he greets the man running the show. "Good afternoon, officer," he says. I get the feeling one gets when he knows he's about to get arrested. The Man is a tanned hispanic in his early thirties, wearing silver mirror shades and a cowboy hat. A badge is pinned to his chest, and Swim hopes he didn't sound as nervous as he actually is when he greeted the cop. Fortunately for Swim, he is stone cold sober, and so are his friends. The drug dog begins to make a lap around the car, while the Man peers at Swim and asks "Is everyone in the car a U.S. citizen?" "Yes, officer," replies Swim. Swim's mind is racing. Will they find the weed? If only it had all been smoked! If Swim knew this was coming, he would have scattered what was left on the side of the road rather than take the risk. But because I didn't know the checkpoint was here, he was idling on the blacktop of a Texas highway surrounded by a dozen armed cops with only a layer of plastic and the metal shell of his trunk lid between a marijuana stash and one of the more sensitive noses on earth. The hound finishes its circuit around the car. It didn't bark, or scratch, or whatever it is that drug sniffing dogs do when they find a cache. The Man in the silver shades hesitates for a second or two, and looks at Swim. "Go on through," says the Man, and swim drives off.