I am struggling to write a summary of Day Four and falter, over and over. A man dressed in a maintenance jacket tells me that I have to give up my bean-bag chair. He leans over and grins, “Sorry fella! Show’s over!”

I have run out of time. I had planned to stop over at the IGF exhibit in the expo earlier in the day, so I pack up my laptop and walk towards the expo area. Like a gargantuan rock show, the roadies are scurrying around like ants and dismantling towers of aluminum and unhinging LCD screens from the walls. Business cards and discarded flyers litter the floor. I step past it all, hoping that a few of the indie displays are still up and running. A man wheeling a stack of unlabelled boxes excuses himself around me as I search the booths. Nothing is left. No one is here.

I take the escalator back upstairs, disappointed that I did not get a chance to say good-byes to some of the hospitable folks I’ve met during the expo. As I am checking my e-mail one last time, within earshot of the wireless router, I see a rag-tag cluster of gamers looking spent but happy. Among them, I spot Sarah Quick, one of the artists (and now the “Media Monkey”) for the Cletus Clay team. 

She nods at me. “Hello Chris! Would you like to join us for a drink?”

“Ummm… hell yes!” 

I follow them to the nearby Metreon complex and we settle down at a table in the food court. Everyone is looking like they’ve just kissed the ass-end of a week-long bender. A member of the Dyson team generously buys us all cokes, and we settle down to the kind of easy-going chatter precluded earlier in the week. We talk about our cats and dogs, and even share a few pictures of them. We talk about our boyfriends and girlfriends and wives and husbands and fiancees. Sarah mentions that Final Fantasy VIII is her favourite Final Fantasy game, surprising everyone. Nobody argues politics or game design or narrative theory. We’re all just here to lick our wounds and smile weakly at one another, knowing that behind the articulacy and marketing and philosophy we are just a handful of goofy kids sucking back a few cokes in the food court and reliving our favourite moments of games among friends.

An hour later, the elation of the week gives way to the reality of a good-bye. There is a short pause as everyone exchanges their e-mail addresses… all of us begin to contemplate the awful truth of our collective situation. In a day or two we shall return home… to places full of people who care very little for the things we care so much about. The microcosm of life that we’ve created in five days is vanishing before our eyes.

Sorry fella. Show’s over.