It was the most touristy mini-mall in a giant touristy maxi-mall of a city. The space was famous for the Electri-Coco ceiling, which pulsed a constellation of perfumed beauty faces, perpetuity lace, and scenes from the most famous epics. Here the hundreds of salessoldiers wore costumes from komiks, dream, and nightmare. Bang, rage, and throb beats ricocheted in the air. And everywhere were thousands of masks, jackets, puffs, acid-dukes, hump-wigs, podium shoes, and plasticott swords for rent. When the trains from other cities disgorged their customers, they rushed straight at us. I worked in the alteration rooms, where t'ups of all sizes and ages crowded in with their newly rented and ill-fitting costumes. Stepping up on the platforms before the mirrors, they stripped down to their foundation and waited impatiently as we fitted, tacked, and hemmed up the Choky Bears, Reginald Ball Faeries, and Blackwitch Breaths. "If you make it through the first week," said Dill, who worked next to me, "get some good support hose and mud-soled shoes.
