The address book was missing. He noticed that as soon as he stepped into the room, and his blood chilled. Nobody else would have thought that he had just lost his address book--there it was, sitting on the bed, plain as day. If the person looking had thought about it for a while, and had seen his apartment before, they might eventually have realized that the hand-knotted rug he kept under his desk was gone. It was only one with the knowledge of the knots and the stories that could be spun and tied into them that would realize the value of what he'd been keeping as a kick-rag. He hadn't done it just to protect the address book from discovery; it was a part of his part that he'd prefer not to think about. He sent his family plain, non-coded letters twice a year, and he moved often enough that if they sent a response, it would be--

Inspiration: Sitting with my address book on my lap.
Story Potential: High!
Notes: This could be quite good, I think. Not sure which influence will out in terms of the knotwork--seacraft, Persian, or something as yet uncreated? Could be fun.