Published in L.A. Weekly
It's 10:20 p.m. on a Friday in November when Kevin walks into Union Station, pumped for his bus ride home and a little buzzed from beers with dinner. That's when he stumbles upon an opera.
The show, Invisible Cities, involves 175 audience members wandering the station, following singers and dancers as they weave around unsuspecting travelers.
Kevin joins the crowd standing in the south patio courtyard, eyes wide. The audience, clad in fancy jackets to ward off the chilly night, paid up to $75 to be there. Kevin stands out in a white T-shirt and white sweatpants. He's tall and burly, with a hard-edged, rectangular face framed by a gray backward cap, mustache and goatee. Not a guy you want to mess with.
One performer, a large bearded man with a backpack, strolls as he sings: "I must go to another city. I must go where I find another past awaits me."
"You ever experienced the term 'surreal'?" Kevin says. "I think this is the first time I've ever seen a surreal moment in my entire life."