Galaxy 12, Monroe

Edward Kuznetsov

Red neon lights outline a derelict movie theater through a sheet of rain,

     Its towering brick form sinks into mossy concrete and ill-defined parking spaces,

All twelve silver screens are dark and dusty, starlit rugs swept clean of popcorn and sticky syrup,

      What sensations remain? Is the lobby silent as a tomb, or can one still hear the uncompressed audio of 90s blockbusters on loop?

      Was it all a dream? And the reality, filled with annoying cellphone users and crying children on a  five-dollar Tuesday matinee?


But, the memories of a warm Summer day and blue raspberry slushies remain,

Through the cold gray rain.

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