The nice Jewish lady stands and you turn from the table. The usher pulls the tape taut across the gap behind you. Click—it locks into the post. Look down: Wonder Woman smolders over a silver scribble and loopy heart. You grin. And Sigh. Look up: there's a giant banana. His eyes flick to the autograph. His mouth puckers. His fists strain white. You nod, smile quivering. Step into the hall. All around: costumes swish, chatter rises. Trails of spicy beef waft from a burrito stand nearby. You glance at the menu. A flash of yellow catches your eye. The banana is behind you. Faster. You stumble into the crowd. Grunts and curses trail behind as your turtle shell jostles shoulders. You look back: the banana is gaining. Quick! You veer into a forest of furries. Rayon foxes. Downy dragons. You slip through. Pop! Into the expo room, spitting out pink fur. Right, passing booths: indie comics, action figures, Funko Pop! Left. Another right. Stop. A Harley Quinn contest. Fishnets. Leather shorts. Babydoll t-shirts riding up over their— Oh! Yellow in your periphery. You turn. The banana is there. Stiff. Staring. You both watch Quinns strike poses. One. Two. Three. You bolt. He follows. You bump Wolverine in a wife beater. He shoves you into a band of Teletubbies. They toss you aside. They smell like cheap cigars and astroglide. The banana reaches and grabs. You yank the autograph back. Roll onto the seafoam carpet under hopping legs. You leap up. Step. Stomp. Run! Weave through Avengers. Shuffle between xenomorph Marge Simpson and Warhammer Santa Claus. Burst into the main hall. It's packed. At the far end: elevators. Crash! Behind you, the banana slams a gaggle of Gryffindors. Broomsticks fly everywhere. You run. Traipse around Teen Titans. Dodge dahleks. Genuflect slide under Gandalf on stilts. Stop! Deadpool in a top hat blocks your path. Veer left: he's there. Veer right: still there. Left. Right. He kick dances, cane swinging. Like Michael Flatley with a shilaylee. You bellow a barbaric yawp, arms flailing. Deadpool screams. You charge forward. Shove him aside with your polylactic shell. Trip! Your legs fly out. Thud! Onto your butt. Deadpool hat-tips; struts away, cane twirling. Yellow felt blazes toward you. The banana pushes and shoves. You scoot back and back and Ding! Shubba-shubba-shubba-shub-shub-shhh… The elevator opens. You dive in. Jam the button. Tchik-tuh—FIVE lights up. The banana approaches, eyes glinting, teeth flashing. Chika-chika-chika-chunk! You hammer CLOZE. The door closes and closes and his eyes peer through the gap that closes and closes and stop! Fingers in the gap. The doors open. The banana stomps in. You clutch the photo to your chest. He holds out his hand. You shake your head. Again the door closes and closes. Your rubber suit squeaks down the wall. You roll. Spin. Between his legs. Wince! Ooh. Banana commando! You kick off the wall and slide through the door, green feet tucked. The door pinches shut over the banana's glare. [guitar solo]
