An R&R favorite since the days of the Vietnam War, Hong Kong’s red-light strip still reels in tourists, visiting sports teams, bachelor parties, foreign residents and — when a ship is in — the shorn-headed men of the U.S. Navy, in all their thirsty legions. Clad in the ubiquitous football shirt and jeans, our whistle-blower would merge perfectly with the tequila-addled sales directors and CFOs milling in front of the strip’s many pubs, hostess bars and dance clubs. And they’ll be too distracted by the pouting and flouting of Lockhart Road’s Filipina, Latina and African working girls to recognize one of America’s most wanted. Even if they did, all Snowden has to do to make his escape is slip into the crepuscular sanctuary of the nearest hostess bar. There’s been many a man who’s permanently lost himself in one of those.
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