Each security checkpoint consisted of two huge, silent, bald-headed thugs in suits, with their heads painted white and their eyes blacked out, and one small guy in a suit playing good cop.
They searched the old Buick and found one of mrrranda's little glass bottles, that probably holds a couple milliliters at most. "What's this for?" Good Cop says, waving it back in forth in front of our faces.
He obviously thought it was for storing drugs. I was nervous. "It's for art. Mrrranda makes these little art boxes, kinda like Joseph Cornell, and she puts these little bottles in them."
He seemed satisfied with that and let us go.