Evan at the border crossing, which is inside a building which looks, from where we stand, to be made entirely of windows. Outside the window-wall we can see the bus, lit by a very yellowy streetlight. If we can see a mess of flies bumbling around in its stupifying glow, so much the better. Inside, maybe 3-5 people (including Evan) are lined up according to a system of lines on the floor clearly intended to manage a much larger and unsleepier crowd than these midnight wayfarers. Evan is right up at the desk/counter thing, which has a sign labeled "US Customs" hanging on a chain above it, so as to remind folks what is happening here and who they are (hopefully not) terrorizing. An exhausted looking security dude or lady is halfheartedly poking the contents of her rucksack to be sure that none of them are likely to explode once their owner sets foot on American soil. S/he isn't quite sure what to make of Evan, but she doesn't exactly read "terrorist," either.