I need the darkness, someone please cut the lights
From a distance it looks like the husk of a theater, hollowed out and abandoned long ago. There’s no name over the marquee, just an expanse of tile the color of chicken broth. The posters that flank the entrance are faded almost to the point of abstraction; Don studies one long enough to discern that the words-whatever they are-are not in English.
He’s surprised to find the doors not shackled shut, more surprised when a tug pulls them open. He steps into a lobby that exceeds his low expectations: it boasts lights (flickering), carpeting (worn), and the smell of fresh popcorn. He buys a ticket at the concessions counter-the box office is vacant of everything but dust-and slips into the dark of the theater.
Two hours later he emerges blinking into a cool late afternoon. He pauses to adjust the collar of his coat and reach for another cigarette.
He’s surprised to find the doors not shackled shut, more surprised when a tug pulls them open. He steps into a lobby that exceeds his low expectations: it boasts lights (flickering), carpeting (worn), and the smell of fresh popcorn. He buys a ticket at the concessions counter-the box office is vacant of everything but dust-and slips into the dark of the theater.
Two hours later he emerges blinking into a cool late afternoon. He pauses to adjust the collar of his coat and reach for another cigarette.