The air is getting cooler in the evenings now, and I shove the ticket into my sweatshirt pocket as I reach for the theater doors.
The lobby is mostly empty this late. There are a couple of employees behind the concession counter looking bored. It’s slow enough that there are two ushers posted at the ticket-taking podium. One leans on the podium with both elbows. His stringy black hair covers his cheeks in an attempt to hide his acne.
The other takes my ticket and smiles. “Theater seven, down the hall to your left.”
The pre-movie ads aren’t working tonight and I am the only one in the theater. It’s silent and I close my eyes, taking in the smell of old popcorn, the sticky residue of spilled sodas, and the musty odor of over-used theater seats.
The lights go down and the previews start. Sound staggers from the screen, like someone is garbling the soundtrack.
Two trailers in, a couple walks in and takes a seat just behind me and to the left. Then a handful of others stumble in, trying to find seats in the dark.
When it’s over, the pop music resonates through the theater, and we all file out into the cool, dark night.
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