Wednesday Night Out

The sign said CLOSED, but the door was open, so we went in.

The albino from the manager's office sold us tickets. He offered to make popcorn.

The theater was empty. Silent. The pre-movie soundtrack killed by lack of interest.

A man, who looked like Santa Claus in a wheelchair, motored in and parked himself in the handicap space. He wore a wool hat and flip-flops.

I pretended to look the whole theater over, so Santa wouldn't know I was staring at him, and saw a bald man so skinny, he could be the living skelton illustration, slip into the next to the last row.

A middle-aged guy who was a college professor, or I've never been to school, planted himself center screen, center row.

I went back to staring at the blank screen wondering if I was about to see a porno.

I snuggled up to my cold water bottle and wondered what would happen next.

We watched THE BLACK DAHLIA.

Santa left ten minutes before the picture ended. Guess he didn't care who did it. Or gave up guessing.

How was the picture?

Well, there was a nice long shot of Josh Harnett's bare bottom.

The End.