Part IV, by lengli
Two days later, Tim, having been too embarassed to go to the Immigration Office himself, lest someone recognize him underneath his aviator sunglasses (minimalist to the core, disguise was not of Tim's stronger suits) and his secret get out, went to retrieve his FedEx package from his doorman. Inside the box he was delighted to find not only a US Citizenship Application Kit, but also an exam guide on video. Being that he was a visual learner, Tim breathed a heavy sigh of relief at the thought of watching a video instead of trudging his way through pages and pages of government literature. As he popped the VHS into the machine, he thanked heaven that he hadn't listen to Michael Kors' ramblings about VCRs being outdated. That little queen sure could get on Tim's nerves sometimes. Just because he ran his own fashion line and Tim was "only an academic," Kors thought he ran the whole ProjRun show. "Those who can't do, teach," was one of Michael's favorite expressions to throw around, which hurt Tim more than he would ever let on.
Tim nestled into his ivory-colo(u)red sofa, prepared to be taken away into the world of American bureaucracy. It all seemed so complicated: so many forms and so many questions. Would he be able to get through the entire process without anyone catching on? After all, there were offices to visit, officiaries with whom to interview, lines in which to stand. "Was being from Hamilton really ultimately so bad?" Tim began to wonder, thinking back to times before he knew any better. Sure, his childhood hadn't been ideal: no matter how much he tried, snow suits were just never fashionable enough, and he always got caught whenever he tried to sneak out to go to Toronto on weekends. However, people there never made fun of his speech pattern: in fact, though it would probably greatly surprise Santino, that was effectively how most Hamiltonians he knew spoke.
Had Tim perhaps been too hasty in writing off his Canadian heritage? Did his heart truly belong to Washington, D.C. as he had once told reporters?
Tim nestled into his ivory-colo(u)red sofa, prepared to be taken away into the world of American bureaucracy. It all seemed so complicated: so many forms and so many questions. Would he be able to get through the entire process without anyone catching on? After all, there were offices to visit, officiaries with whom to interview, lines in which to stand. "Was being from Hamilton really ultimately so bad?" Tim began to wonder, thinking back to times before he knew any better. Sure, his childhood hadn't been ideal: no matter how much he tried, snow suits were just never fashionable enough, and he always got caught whenever he tried to sneak out to go to Toronto on weekends. However, people there never made fun of his speech pattern: in fact, though it would probably greatly surprise Santino, that was effectively how most Hamiltonians he knew spoke.
Had Tim perhaps been too hasty in writing off his Canadian heritage? Did his heart truly belong to Washington, D.C. as he had once told reporters?
posted by lengli at
9:58 PM
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