AM I AN ALIEN?

Do I look like an immigrant or alien? Do I look like I want to take over American Express, do I look like a drug dealer?  Well the borders of America think so. “What do you want Miss in this country?”  The room you can hardly breathe in smells of piss and sick. I look around  it is full of maids who want to be economic immigrants and a screaming baby hot and tired from a long trip. A pretty toddler is left running around with a man who is just there to deliver her to the USA, I think he looks like a child killer, then there is a man who has 13 children and four wives.  I think to myself they can’t possibly want to leave the beauty and palm trees of South America and the Far East. Then there is me. What do I want in America, sometimes I don’t know. Hell I just bought a house  in Beverly Hills, because it was a good deal against the pound. I could have a tennis court and sun for three million pounds from Sothebys, and try to remember the delights of Maison du Cap in Ramatuelle, South of France, that I had lost in my divorce. What do I want? My friends think I should marry some rich American dude and settle running the film studios of Hollywood, how about Paramount or  Universal, or marry a man interested in Contemporary Art so I can increase my collection, and may be keep the house of Tamara de Lempicka’s that I own in Paris?. They are so ambitious for me. I just want peace, and not be stopped at customs. I love Paris and London and nothing is going to tempt me to leave, not evan hiring and firing of film stars.