You can buy the hat, I'll gather three other people and make a couple of masks of Blinky, Pinky, Inky, and Clyde, and we can all meet in a crowded public area and begin chasing each other in perpendicular lines. I'll bring you a bag of white grapes to eat as you run. ^_^
Oh no.. I was just looking at the pics, this one in particular:
.. and wondered - if y'can make such a nifty Pac-Man hat (hood?) as the one above, what would a similar ghost look like? Then the answer came.. a saturated color version of Darth Vader.
The intermissions, the rollovers, they meant nothing. To them. Nothing. They couldn't see. I tried to show them, but they wouldn't see. They gave me pills, therapy, little talks.. the works. And it worked, in time. I learned how to barf up whatever they thought they wanted to hear.
They smiled at me. I smiled back at them. They let me go.
The show's tonight. I have my ticket in my left vest pocket: it's warm, like an arcade in summer.
The taxi driver joked - joked - about. The. Hat. He drove fast, so fast, never stopping at corners - the city is laid out like a grid. I like that. And he never backtracked, just drove on, staying inside the yellow lines. Sometimes.. sometimes he drove over the white dashes that flickered under the car, and I nearly couldn't stop myself - but I stayed quiet, kept to the pattern, the pattern is everything.
He turned on the radio. "Tonight at the Venue, Blue Man Group!"
I swallow a big, round, white pill. The world starts flashing. The taxi stops.