The suitcases were heavy when she lifted them to the conveyor. The handles visibly strained to keep them aloft.
The people in line behind her, all with as many or more bags, all just as swollen, groaned when the klaxon sounded and the belt stopped. The men in blue shirts donned their latex gloves and lifted her suitcases down, wielding them one-handed, like balloons. Others pawed her belongings on a long metal table.
“Fear,” called one of the searchers.
“Shame,” said another. She giggled. “Lust. Self-hatred.”
“You can’t bring contraband through here,” the man with the wraparound mustache scolded her.