Who is the man behind the mask?

Sometimes, it’s life’s oddities that put a permanent smile on my face.

On Thursday night, my friends and I sat in the near-empty Sports Cafe, a $3 draft in hand to drown the stress of that week. The laid-back atmosphere we'd been looking forward to was interrupted with a mad-dash to the windows overlooking Burrowes and College.

"There's a chicken and a gorilla outside!"

"What? Really? A real one?"

"Check it out, its a freakin' gorilla!"

"Oh my god, who actually owns costumes like that?"

The exclamations of surprise and glee continued as more and more people smushed their faces against the glass, leaving handprints and grease marks like kids ogling the newest doggy in the window.

A group of college-aged guys who were passing the life-sized chicken and gorilla paused to pal around with their newfound friends. The humans and animals sparred, playfully jabbing each other under the glowing green and yellow Subway sign lights. Had the chicken and gorilla been dressed as two normal college kids, rather than in costume, the two groups may have never met. Much like Superman and Louis Lane, the costume allowed for a deeper relationship to form.

Later that night, as I filed out of the bar onto Beaver Ave, I ran into the chicken and gorilla again, still skipping around State College. This time they were frolicking with a different group of partygoers, giving high-fives, patting people on the back, even giving a few hugs. Every interaction pumped a greater feeling of happiness and glee into the atmosphere.

Who knows who these masked figures were, where they came from, or if they’ll ever show up again. But for at least one night, a chicken and a gorilla made the world, or at least State College, a happier place.