Favelas, drugs, crime, guns, murder. These were the words ushered from worried faces when I mentioned I was going to Brazil. The worst were the Brazilians themselves, “you’re going to die” was something I heard a couple of times. It was said with such conviction that I barely slept the night before my flight. In part, they were right to warn me…

The train was filled with teenage body odor and leather trench coats. Comic con had come to Birmingham and my train was delayed. I sat nervously at my window seat counting the minutes pass. As the train came to a stop I pushed Ash Ketchum out of my way and ran until my heart hurt and my throat bled and the gate was closed and I shouted “SHIT!”.

a couple of last minute flights and 36 hours later I was at a green and blue gate with the number…