At this point, I had lost my pink ribbon. But way before I lost my ribbon, I had lost my spirit and ambition of the game. Some would say I was a sore loser. In some ways, I was. As I lamented alone in the city that didn’t really care, in a city full of people ambling to the next party, the scantily clad girls walking around in the San Francisco night.
I meandered my way to 10th street, hoping but not expecting to run into Chris who was on his journey. As I neared 10th street, I heard a male voice. “Jenn?” the voice broke through the dark silence.
Ta-ching? If it’s him, I’ll have to come up with another lame excuse to cover why I was being such a loser and a wimp.
As I walked closer, it turned out to be Chris! “Hi!!!!!!” I excitedly ran over. “You made it!”
“Not yet,” he said and I started talking out loud about my loser-ness situation and asked about his journey. He was stumbling his way from checkpoint 3 up in the tenderloin and was nearly limping to checkpoint 4 due to his pulled muscles. On the way down, he had many adventures of his own—he had changed in his Phantom of Opera costume, which matched the soundtracks of people driving past the Opera House at the Civic Center, then he ran past a little girl dressed as a fairy wandering alone on Jones Street—he stopped for a few minutes to help her find her brother and mother, then he was propositioned by a homeless woman…and had three chasers that tried to tag him but failed. Now in the habit of completely scanning the area for all figures, he had spotted a person wandering aimlessly, slightly hunched over, as if there was no goal in sight, perhaps no hope. Then he recognized my gray Nike pants—the pants that he bought for me at a Nike outlet and the pants I frequently wore as relaxing pants and was a major part of my costume as Mirror’s Edge’s Faith.
And so began the latter and better part of the night…