I had never walked across a border before. In the past it had always been in some form of vehicle: bus, train, car, cruise ship. After receiving my exit stamp from Costa Rica I walked through no man’s land, the space between border. The void that should be empty, but was bustling with traffic, horns, stench. Was this where people came when they had nowhere else to go? That’s what it felt like, the slum that filled the space between identities. Neither Panama or Costa Rica…nothing. Perhaps it looked different during the day, but at night it felt like walking through a world where daylight was a myth. Panama City…