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.

Friday, July 11, 2014

July 23rd, 9:32pm - Pacific Time

Here I am at San Diego Airport. I'm hella nervous. Do I just take a cab to La Quinta Mission Valley or what? Eh. I may as well. I can't stay at the airport all night. Besides, there's Comic-Conning to be done.


The cab drops me off. Huh. Nice place. I head right for the front desk. Here's hoping that I can get some rest for the night.

"I'm sorry, sir, but there are no reservations under that name."

Perfect. Well, $300 down the crapper. I'm going home.

"hashtag 'would do anything to go to San Diego Comic-Con'?"

I'm almost afraid to say... "Yes?"

"Hey. Glen Tyler. You're the last to get here."

"So...I'm not the only one?"

"Oh, no. There are a few others upstairs." He starts to walk toward the elevator. "Come on."

Grabbing my luggage, I nervously follow him. The guy at the front desk starts to dial on the phone, but Glen holds his hand up. I guess that means 'He's with me".


Nice room. Apparently, that $300 went toward decent lodging. I flip on the lights. Okay. There seem to be people already in the beds. I turn off the lights.

I set up two chairs to face each other. Odd, but it beats sleeping on the floor. I'm sure that the first day of Comic-Con will heal any sleeping pains.


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