Mr. Cellophane

In a location adjacent to a place in a city of some significance, what comes out of my head is plastered on the walls of this blog.

Thursday, July 31, 2014


I run like a madman out of the convention center. I must look like a freak to the people walking around...the people dressed like various characters of TV and film. Work with me, here.

A car pulls up in front of the center. The window rolls down.

"Get in!"


Security's nipping at my heels. I dive into the back seat. The car peels off.

I glance at something wrapped in plastic. Action Comics #1.

"What the hell is this?"

"Oh, that's just something I picked up."

This ain't hard to figure at all. "You stole this!"

"I stole it back from the son of a bitch who stole it from me. Fair is fair."

"Well, Billie Jean, your little mission could get us arrested."

"That's a hell of a way to say 'thank you'."

"I've never been in trouble with the law before. Why would I say thank you?"

"I'm really getting this from the guy who went onto Craigslist looking for Comic-Con tickets?"

"Fair point."


My luggage sits on the curb in front of the hotel. Kind of a miracle nothing was stolen.

I grab my things and head back into the back seat.

"Does this car go to the airport?"


Sucking down quesadillas at the airport. Not the most auspicious ending to this year's Con, but, hey, at least I didn't get arrested.

I glance up at the television screen. There I am again.

I guess this meal is to go.


My flight doesn't leave for another three hours. Not sure I can avoid detection for that long. Still, getting a taste of awesomeness for a few days only to have it cruelly snatched away from you when you need to return to real life...isn't that what Comic-Con is all about?


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