21
The con suite crowd hadn’t thinned out, but the gaps between clusters of attendees had widened enough that Dale could walk through normally if he pinned his elbows and hands to his sides. The half-lit can lights washed dim pools of illumination across the sea of shadows. Dale glimpsed a couch meant for three people with twice that many teenagers crammed into it, all their hair spiked and dyed like they were auditioning for roles in the next big anime and squirming like excited puppies. Yeast and cheap sugar and industrial spices saturated the air, and dozens of conversations blurred into an ear-stunning tumult. A lanky, scruffy-bearded man dressed as Gandalf strode in.
Everybody babbled to their friends.
Dale didn’t expect to see any of his friends, but in a crowd like this a familia
