The train clattered across the tracks, guided by high-tension power wires. Somebody’s kid had pissed in this car some time ago- the acrid scent of it lingers yet, despite the powerful air conditioning. My shoulders ache under the weight of both messenger bags- one with this laptop that I write on, the other with assorted brickbracks, medication.. and an untouched, virgin case of Red Bull. Not my drink of choice, in fact, but it was the cheapest by volume available at the local Safeway.
Next year, I will plan ahead and order a supply of Bawls from Thinkgeek instead. Red Bull tastes like the Taiwanese drink brand Vitali- but filtered through the kidneys of a chronically drunk diabetic. Caffeinated Sprite, on the other hand, actually goes down well, with or without a chaser of strong spirits to make it worth it.
But that is not the present concern. I make idle chat to the couple behind me- the guy in the trademark forest-green cape and the dull-metal gray mask of Dr. Doom. It’s a neat costume, and comes with a simple, but impressively scaled, duct-tape bazooka. It is immediately obvious where they’re headed- and it’s my destination as well. As the train clatters on and the city of San Jose’s office buildings loom across our dirt-stained windows, the energy amongst the odder-looking occupants of the train steadily grows.
Light gray concrete, giant spheres of the same outlining a gushing, fountain. An abstract mural of polished red, black and blue tiles. And costumes, costumes everywhere. It’s like stepping into an alternate universe, once every year- an impromptu pageant of vibrant colors and impossible constructions, swords and batons and spiky hair; flowing robes and nosebleeding skirts; cardboard and styrofoam.
I breathe in, out, and the tension flows away.
I’m home again. FanimeCon’s in town.
