I thanked my driver for finding me. When he saw that I had only one big bag from WinCo, he told me I wasn’t the typical shopper. I told him that I only bought as much as I could carry – but he didn’t know that it still added up to a hefty bill, as my bag could pretty much fit a body.

I asked my driver where he was from originally, and he told me Indiana. [I could tell he was a corn-fed Midwesterner because he was tall and fair and still had the innate politeness that they seem to keep in their back pocket at all times.] I told him I had lived in Cincinnati and was pretty familiar with a lot of areas in Indiana, as I went to concerts and hung out in Indianapolis quite a bit, and had friends all over.

My driver asked me which years I lived there. It turns out I was there at the same time his relative was the editor of the Cincinnati Enquirer. It also turns out his relative was the one who paid millions to Chiquita as part of a settlement because reporters tapped illegally into Chiquita’s voicemail system. It happened less than a year after I moved there and I remembered it sort of vaguely. My driver said he didn’t get the whole story from his relative. Wikileaks, however, wasn’t shy about revealing all. It was so. much. money. Which then brings up another thought: What happens to that money? Of course, attorneys are paid some nice stacks. But after that, where does it go? Do shareholders see some kickback? Do pineapples get extra fertilizer? Do employees get tins of Spam for the holidays? The cynic in me already knows the answer.