The corridor led to a former meeting room that now served as a storage space. Chairs were upended on a massive table, and a layer of dust covered everything. Old posters, broken sports equipment, and other junk was piled everywhere. A gigantic jaguar head—a vinyl balloon that had long since deflated—lay draped over a stack of plastic boxes in one corner. Its eyes glared out at us, as if challenging intruders onto its turf. Under its watchful glare we stripped off our street clothes and hid them inside one of the boxes. We also took off our breathers—there was no need for them inside the climate-controlled interior of the stadium.