“Sir?”
“Oh did I say that out loud?” Marc looked at the pimply kid behind the counter. School must not be in session yet, this kid couldn’t have been more than 16.
“I’m sorry sir, we’re closed.” His voice cracked as he reached up for the gate and pulled it down in front of Marc.
“Oh but! Just one sec… I…”
Mr. Pimples pulled the jogging hot dogs from their treadmills and shoved them in a drawer below the gym and walked through the side door.
“Oh well, probably shouldn’t eat that crap anyway.”
Marc wandered down the concourse and out to the stands. The teams had left the field and a few maintenance workers were cleaning the seats. Marc sat down and looked around the expansive stadium. Its patchwork of rows and stairways looked like concrete-plaid. The tough plastic seat was painful but Marc was so proud of himself for allowing this tiny moment of insanity into his life he didn’t mind stretching back and letting out a sigh. The sigh of a man who felt freedom.
Marc’s stomach growled loudly again.
“I better get going, I’ll grab lunch then head on home and … “ He remembered he had to tell his family he quit his job. “… Maybe I’ll stay here a little longer; there might still be a concession stand open.”
Marc walked back out onto the concourse and looked around. He heard Mr. Pimples and some similarly cracking voices laughing around the next corner.
“Dude, you gotta check out my new Xbox. That shit is so sick!”
“Ah man you poser, I bet your Mom only let’s you play Mario. You know Medal of Honor is where it’s at.”
Marc saw them up ahead and Pimples was eating some nachos.
“Dude I totally will school you on Medal of Honor. Let’s go right now.”
“Yeah screw cleaning up, let’s go.”
Pimples laughed and set down his nachos and headed for the exit and walked out with his friend. Marc ran up but didn’t catch them. The stadium sounded very quiet now.
“Shit, I better go.” Marc walked for the door and pushed.
Locked!
“Well, shit, okay.” He tried another door, and another. Locked still. He ran around the concourse trying all the exits. Every one locked. He ran and ran until the panic left him.
“Son of a…I’m locked in!”
Marc’s stomach growled and he looked over to the ledge where Pimples left his nachos.
“That’ll work.”
Marc grabbed the nachos and headed for the stands. He got to the top of the stairs when the air-conditioner clicked off and the silence of the stadium filled his ears. Distracted he looked up as he hit the top step and missing it completely slipped, throwing his nachos in the air above him. He spun as he fell trying to catch them, but choose to cover his face when he saw them out of their basket coming down in a web of hot cheesiness. His body hit the stairs, which hurt, but it was quickly followed by a solid drenching in yellow cheese and stale chips.
“Son of a!” Marc groaned and tried to stand up but when he leaned on his right ankle he fell again into the seats to his side.
“God! Argh!” He reached down to grab his ankle and saw all the cheese on his hands and arms. He flicked the cheese off, and it flew like yellow snot across the seats around him. He grabbed his ankle, which was already starting to swell. Marc untied his shoe and massaged his ankle grunting and moaning from the pain.
Finally when the shock subsided he looked at his clothes and decided to look around for the men’s room to clean up. As he limped down the concourse he saw the gifts stand was still open with clean clothes. “That’s what I need right there.”
Unfortunately, the stand was only for women and children but he managed to find a pair of South Dakota All-Stars pink warm ups in a women’s XXL that fit him. As he looked down at his pink warm ups he remembered the walking anomaly at the airport and chuckled to himself, “Pardon me sir, can I borrow a pen, and if you happen to have some Grey Poupon…”
He also found a shirt and a hat and left 50 dollars at the register to ease his conscience.
Marc folded up his clothes and stuffed them in an All-Stars duffle bag and with only one shoe on he hobbled over to a chair to sit down and rub his ankle and come up with a plan to get out.
As he sat, he heard large metallic slapping sounds running around the concourse and in the stadium. He stood up and looked out through the stadium entrance and saw the lights had been turned off, except for emergency lights which left the stadium a dull green-grey color.
Slap-Slap-Slap.
He turned around and the lights in the concourse had gone off.
“Hello!”
“Hello!”
“Is someone here? Hello!” Marc hobbled around and didn’t see anyone.
Part V – Living at the Stadium? How long will Marc last?
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