Every night as the 5 p.m. hour winds around and the show begins to wrap up, the speakers begin to pump out an orchestral version of Auld Lang Syne. Each booth gathers its companions to parade them around their booth for a final goodbye to the show's attendees. Some marches feature mascots, some feature bows, but all of them feature oodles of companions.
TGS Booth Babe March, Brought to you By Microsoft
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I'm writing this while sitting on a train. It's almost full, packed with commuters. Most have their heads down looking at the tiny screens of their phones. Schoolkids argue loudly about something I can't quite hear. Some people are just waiting, staring out the windows. Staring at the floor. Eating some chips. Everyone on public transportation is on pause, between one thing and the next. Worried about their destination. Excited to get there or dreading the moment they arrive. This is what a large number of human beings do every day. Locked in a steel box, eager to be somewhere else. It is a bizarre modern practice but it has become completely mundane for millions. A lot do it because they require money for food and shelter. Otherwise they will die hungry and alone. They invented trains and all the corresponding destinations. They pay close attention when to exit and are ready to get instantly annoyed if the train isn't quick enough. They will spend years, decades, perhaps even centuries doing this. Or at least until teleportation is commercially available.
I have been in mourning. Loss has followed me for weeks now, and I have not been able to give it a name.