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dream.20051009: PT Porno

by Rob Friesel

A porn theater as a community’s cultural center. There’s nothing taboo about this. It isn’t some counter-culture or bohemia or anything like that. The theater just happens to sit at the heart of town and the townspeople flock there as if it were the local tabernacle or tavern. Truth be told, there aren’t too many that venture inside. Most folks just gather in the parking lot for tailgating parties and other boisterousness.

I’ve not been in town long but I know most everyone here.

Many of them I know from elsewhere. But I don’t know if I’ve moved here or if I’ve lived here all along and have perhaps moved back.

I spend a lot of time in the parking lot. Folks will block off whole lanes for dancing and bonfires.

A knows the woman at the ticket booth well. They go back a long ways. They joke around about how the admission is only ever $3 for any given show but how no one ever checks the ticket stubs because all the ticket stubs are the same generic “ADMIT ONE” stubs. The owner was worried about the town’s take on his establishment. But everyone kept congregating in the parking lot. And he was making a killing at the concession stand.

Trouble arose when my brother came in to town. He fit in well. Well enough anyway, at first. Folks in town liked him. He got along with everyone. He seemed to like them. He and I spent a bunch of time together. We did a lot of grilling in that parking lot. And then at one point he indicated that he would be off for a spell. He had to jam down the block for more hot dogs or something. Sure. No problem. Except that he wasn’t gone for more than 15 minutes before I was overwhelmed with some deep anxiety. A was nowhere to be found. I remembered her and the friend from the ticket booth taking off for a while. They’d told me as much. But I had to get out of here. Quite suddenly, things weren’t right. And now that son of a bitch had taken my car. And A had her car (which made enough sense) but I was stuck here. Stuck? Here? I grabbed my cell — batteries low. Very low. My brother wasn’t picking up. He should have been back by now. I had only one chance. Quick call to A: I was taking her friend’s PT Cruiser. The bright yellow one in the bottom right of the parking lot. I know she wouldn’t like it but I had to get out of here.

About Rob Friesel

Software engineer by day, science fiction writer by night. Author of The PhantomJS Cookbook and a short story in Please Do Not Remove. View all posts by Rob Friesel →

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