At 5 p.m. at the Mineral light-rail station in extreme southwest Denver, a adult female spies a press pass for Barack Obama's acceptance speech at Invesco Field.
"Do you have an extra ticket?" she asks. "I pulled every string I know trying to get my husband in."
He is bound to be out of luck.
The boodle along the rail business are patrolled by a hodge-podge of law enforcement: Federal Air Marshals, Homeland Security explosives specialists, private Wackenhut security department guards in ill-fitting tan polyester uniforms.
Word is the Invesco Field train stop was closed because of vast crowds surging about the tracks. Not that it mattered: Lines for the stadium security checkpoints extended all the way back to the previous station a half international mile away.
But by the time we arrive, the Invesco stop has reopened. And lo and behold, the two-hour wait that bogged down earlier arrivals -- officials successfully convinced plenty of folks to arrive former -- is gone.
Just as those who risked waiting until the last minute to evacuate earlier Hurricane Katrina found open roads instead of traffic jams, those of us who arrived outside Invesco at 6 p.m. breezed through security.
Under an Interstate 25 approach ramp near the first checkpoint, the hopeful solicited eleventh hour tickets "There's a estimable chance I'll love you forever if you give me a ticket!" yelled a daughter of 12 with a hand-drawn sign.
"Obama said everyone could come, so here I am," said another young womanhood in an Obama shirt who, thus far, remained ticketless.
After one woman declined to buy a scalped ticket for $400, some other passers-by handed her unmatched for free.
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This path to the arena passes under Interstate 25, which is closed to traffic and staffed by police. Signs, even Obama signs, are confiscated ahead we reach out the metallic element detectors at the stadium itself.
Inside Invesco Field, the merch tables are doing a big business sector. People are excited. This feels like the concert everyone wants to attend.
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