When I climbed on TRAX last week, my head suffered a time skip. I froze in the doorway. Something was off. Nearly everyone on the car was wearing some kind of uniform.
There were dark villains, Middle-Earthers, outer ringers, dumpy Avengers and scrawny throne-types. There was even a Spider-Man, but since he weighed twice what I do, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the real one.
Note: Yeah, my brain isn’t me. It’s just a rudimentary survival tool I use to remind me to breathe and to recognize the subtle but dangerous changes in my wife’s tone of voice.