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?
Maybe.
But, the memories of a warm Summer day and blue raspberry slushies remain,
Through the cold gray rain.
Clamor 