It was an overly warm summer night. It was an air charged with an excitement more palpable than the musk left in the wake of hormone filled teenage girls watching sparkling vampires. This night, dear readers, was the night of Harry Potter and the half-blood prince.
The crowd undulated outside the doors. A mass of sweaty mouth-breathers who’s collective intelligence rivaled that of a headless pigeon. “There is a hedge right here with a path going past it, but you can’t see through the windows if the line goes that way,” stated one such person. The line instead turned towards the path of cars and parking areas. However, this was a night of magic, and like the hyphy bus from movie number three, cars would change shape to accommodate the crowd.
Soon the doors were opened by the mighty wand of the general manager, and the screaming of 450 muggles filled the small lobby. The lone floor staff of the night swallowed what little hope he had for a pleasant night, wishing only that he had some strong spirits to drown his ears in.
Harry Potter, the once paradox of babiness and power, was now a man. A man with such powers he could give God a run for his money using only the disarming spell.
Ok I’m done. This week was lame. Tomorrow is my day off. Yay.
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You are a very brave person to have such a job as this, Neil. You need a higher pay. :/
ReplyDeletegreat piece -- great writing
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