A con is liminal space. It’s a pocket of unreality bounded by the host city’s build environment. It allows us to unmask, or at least to loosen the strings a bit. It’s a seasonal gathering place for the nomadic tribes of dice and media, complete with entertainers, merchants, and revels. For a weekend, we raise the varicolored tents and gather around the fire circles that burn well into the night. The neurodivergent are the majority here; the neurotypicals, for once, find themselves exiled to the sidelines of incomprehension if they aren’t willing to learn others’ rites and revel in the ways those others deem appropriate and normal.

For a weekend, we are safe to be.