Smuggling O into Rome.

In the days before security became an ontological condition, I used to waltz through customs with the O in my hand or in my top pocket or, as on a certain memorable trip to Florence, crushed down into a bag of pistachio nuts. But we live in stupid times which demand stupid responses and so it was I went through security with the O inside my unlit pipe which, indeed, I left hanging from the corner of my mouth.