On my first morning here, I rummaged through my luggage and discovered two things:
- A note saying our luggage had been searched by the Department of Homeland Security, and
- No socks.
One of two things may have happened here. The first is mere absentmindedness and coincidence, and the second is that the American national security establishment has stolen my socks.
I’ll let you guess which way I’m going to tell that story. Fortunately my underwear was not deemed to be a threat, and none of you will be subjected to a rant about Hoye stomping Tokyo commando-style. That doesn’t mean I’ll spare you the mental image, of course, because that’s how I roll. Don’t worry, ma’am, I’m from the internets.
It occurs to me that perhaps my socks were not confiscated, but commandeered, playing some shadowy but crucial role in the war on terror that the world can never be allowed to know.