Miguel Santana stomps into the lobby wearing old-leather farm work boots, a short-sleeved cotton farm shirt with "Elect Santana" silkscreened onto it, jeans, and an attitude. It's in the bushy mustache and the curly black hair, and the eyes. It's in the way he walks, as if you better get out of his way, because he has somewhere to go. He does take off his cowboy hat and press it against his chest. He smells of the land and the dust from the road.
"Where do I check in?" he asks. "Only I got a truckload of farm treasure outside. Where do I park that so people don't notice?"
Sun Wukong holds out his hairy paw. "Good to meet you. I'll pull it round back."
Miguel's eyes pop, but he drops the keys into Wukong's palm. "Need help unloading?"
"We've got this," is all Wukong says as he heads out, with a crew including Thor, Fuxi, Waverly, Sandy, and Pigsy trotting after him, not to mention several chefs and waiters from the restaurant.
