"Sure," I told him.
As the Trooper came to frisk me--I was wearing a denim kilt with no underwear, my summer outfit--he asked me if I had anything in my pockets.
"Just these sunglasses." I pulled them out and held them up.
"Put them on the top of the car, and put your hands on the roof." He didn't growl, "Spread it," as they do on TV.
He fumbled discreetly over my kilt (if I had been of another persuasion, I might have been disappointed), my shirt, and then reported to the detective: "Nothing."
The detective looked at me. "Everything you tell us checks out," he had even called my wife's cell-phone and heard her message, "except this." He held up the baggie with the seeds.
I still had no idea where they came from, and told him so. Now, I think I know, but I really didn't have a clue at the time.
"You can't do better than that?"
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