I flew out of Logan on Thursday. I checked in very early, had a large cup of yuppie cafe to kill some time, and eventually worked my way to the line for the safety dance screen. It's a routine I've done plenty of times before, and while I can't say I have it down to an art (frankly, I carry too many loose items for my liking), the process is pretty painless.

So there I was, emptying my pockets when I felt a loose item I definitely should have left at home. In an instant, I realized that I was packing, so I did the only thing I could think to do. I went to the nearest security personnel and said, "I've got a knife." This was followed by a quick explanation of lack of intention and cursed forgetfulness. NSP just looked at me expectantly until I uttered the single, irrevocable phrase, "I'm willing to surrender it."

Now it's gone.

And so endeth the story of the Kershaw folder that Pablo passed to me after finding it on the street. It'd be a much dumber ending if it weren't for this: the man who was screened after me, someone who had been moved up through the line as a first class passenger, came to me and said, "Had to give it up, huh? I can't tell you how many knives I've lost that way...."