The tourists here are extremely distinguishable. Denver types are so healthy and go dashing about in running gear or hiking books, with gym bags for brief cases. Or maybe it's just Saturday. The tourists, on the other hand, look like the people who trapped me on the connecting flight from Spokane yesterday: overweight, impatient, stressed-out, red-in-the-face, slightly angry.
I'm trying to strike a balance. I brought every piece of requisite health-nut three piece suit, running shoes, shorts, and a thin, ratty t-shirt, iPod instead of cufflinks and sweat band instead of tie. Not appropriate unless I should be spotted actually running. I couldn't look unhealthy if I tried, owing to the beginnings of a summer tan and my general cardiovascular well-being. Perhaps if I had the money for it I could carry an arm-full or two of shopping bags signaling an unhealthy addiction to credit or poor taste.
Whatever I would have to do to blend in here, I'm not willing to do it: it serves as further evidence that I do not belong in Colorado. I deserve the choice to blend in or stand out. I'm willing to claim this as a right.
[In a somewhat related note which needs less than a full blog-post of exploration, a friend with whom I am often spotted out decided that we need great disguises. We are far too popular to have a relaxed, uninterrupted evening.]
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