It was hard to miss – a frothing mass of humanity bumped and jostled at the far end of the room, packed in tight. I could not see the object of their focus, but this had to be it. As I made my way across the room, I gradually discerned that there were at least three different types of people here – businessmen in suits with refined drinks, a casually dressed faction, and a surprisingly large number of fashionably-attired teens.
To my left, a gaggle of teenyboppers crowded in. One girl tapped me on the elbow, and I leaned closer as we shouted over the noise.
“So who is it?”
“It’s a celebrity, right? What celebrity is up there? I can’t see!”
“That’s the president of Del Rey.”
“Del Rey – a manga company. They’re celebrating their anniversary.”
“Oh . . . ” No sooner had the words left my lips than the girls turned and left.
The words of those girls would haunt me. Is that all we are, even at our most formidable, even at our most presentable? Are we the perpetual other, the human spectacle, forever doomed to be strangers in a strange land?
It was delicious.