[pshrynk]

Howard Hughes checked himself in the mirror. He had on all the needed clothes to go outside. He had started checking checking checking that once when he had had the thought that he might not be wearing his pants. Fly zipped. Hat? Where's the hat? On my head.

He forced himself away from the mirror and to the door of his hotel room. In the corridor, there were two socks, one of which had a safety pin on the cuff. They seemed to be looking at him expectantly. He surrepticiously checked that he had on socks. Yes. And shoes. That were tied.

"Why are those socks looking at me? And how are they looking at me?"

The safety pin sock laid there as if to say, you can always use a spare pair of socks, can't you? Just in case?

Hughes picked up the socks and absently put them in his pocket. Descending the stairs, he counted them. Twenty. Which was different that the eighteen he'd counted on the way up. He went back up. Eighteen. Good. That matched. He went down. Twenty. He went back up. Eighteen. Back down. Twenty one. He started to sweat.

In his pocket the socks seemed to say to one another, this could take all day. Are you sure the script calls for him? I'm pretty sure. Why don't you look in your script? I seem to have lost it.