decided to nap before arriving at the bus depot on Highway 7––some place called Avery’s––and try his best to keep an open mind once he got there. Deputy Cooley would take him to the Bartleby to check in and then carry him to the Arlo County Sheriff’s Office to meet Ned Robertson and to discuss their plan of action.
His natural optimism began to recede. If this town gave Sedgewick the heebie jeebies, Alan felt he would be completely susceptible to catching a case of it himself.
8
Dylan was more excited about having to wear a bow-tie. Sure, the free screenings were nice, a super bonus, but there was something about looking formal even if the job description consisted of tearing tickets and helping old ladies find seats once the lights went down and the first reel came to life.
The Hemming Theatre was built in 1914 and had survived the depression, thirty-seven owners, and even the threat of demolition or repurpose after the box office receipts were barely enough to cover maintenance and wages for their already underpaid staff of six. The city council finally passed a budget in the late nineties to restore the theatre to its former glory, installing new light fixtures, repainting the place inside and out, replacing the screen, and even putting in a handicap-accessible ramp from the sidewalk to the front entrance. Nowadays, the theatre thrived on second-run films and concessions, along with support from the local community.
Dylan was particularly pleased to know he’d have his first paycheck next Friday. Larry Dawson, the manager, had gone to school with his mother and thought highly of her, and her son would hopefully be just as polite and well-mannered.
Larry wasn’t disappointed. He already liked Dylan a great deal and immediately put him to work once the first cluster of moviegoers picked their way into the place at a quarter till four.
He recognized nearly everyone. There was Gilbert Langley, the school janitor; Shirley Thompson and Wanda Phillips from Math; and Carl Whatshisname from the hardware store. Dylan remembered seeing Carl when his father needed screws, nails, or other knickknacks. Carl was also involved with some church around here, but Dylan couldn’t think of which one… That one past Grissom’s Stretch on the main highway, maybe… Dammit, what’s it called…
Sand Mountain Church––a nondescript house of worship with a dead oak out front, twisted up like an arthritic hand. Those folks had a sketchy reputation in town, but that kind of talk usually went in one ear and out the other.
He ripped their tickets with little effort, putting on his most dignified and regal persona. This was easy work and he felt as though he were doing a great service to the community. He was making a difference in the lives of others––at least that illusion was enough to chew on until he cleaned up the spilled popcorn and empty Styrofoam cups and headed home for the night.
He wanted to make a real difference, though. Someday, he’d have his chance.
9
The place was dark and lit like a haunted house. Alternating green, pink, and yellow neon. Beams and lasers pulse and strobe to music laden with heavy bass and sultry vocals. Cheap perfume and cigar smoke.
Duke and Roger liked the place immediately. They recognized Lilly, one of the dancers. She’d graduated from DHS last year and got knocked up by Stan Cunningham. Her belly was swollen and pale like a dead fish caught in the backwater. She had already popped out one kid that practically begged to be fed, but Momma was doing what she could to put food on the table. Shaking her stuff for cash was just one avenue of income and she found it was something she rather enjoyed, even if Stan was a pissed-off grunt who had little to do with her anymore.
They found a table near the stage and dragged up a couple of chairs. This delightful little black hole in Cullman County was appropriately called, well, The Black Hole. It wasn’t the classiest
His natural optimism began to recede. If this town gave Sedgewick the heebie jeebies, Alan felt he would be completely susceptible to catching a case of it himself.
8
Dylan was more excited about having to wear a bow-tie. Sure, the free screenings were nice, a super bonus, but there was something about looking formal even if the job description consisted of tearing tickets and helping old ladies find seats once the lights went down and the first reel came to life.
The Hemming Theatre was built in 1914 and had survived the depression, thirty-seven owners, and even the threat of demolition or repurpose after the box office receipts were barely enough to cover maintenance and wages for their already underpaid staff of six. The city council finally passed a budget in the late nineties to restore the theatre to its former glory, installing new light fixtures, repainting the place inside and out, replacing the screen, and even putting in a handicap-accessible ramp from the sidewalk to the front entrance. Nowadays, the theatre thrived on second-run films and concessions, along with support from the local community.
Dylan was particularly pleased to know he’d have his first paycheck next Friday. Larry Dawson, the manager, had gone to school with his mother and thought highly of her, and her son would hopefully be just as polite and well-mannered.
Larry wasn’t disappointed. He already liked Dylan a great deal and immediately put him to work once the first cluster of moviegoers picked their way into the place at a quarter till four.
He recognized nearly everyone. There was Gilbert Langley, the school janitor; Shirley Thompson and Wanda Phillips from Math; and Carl Whatshisname from the hardware store. Dylan remembered seeing Carl when his father needed screws, nails, or other knickknacks. Carl was also involved with some church around here, but Dylan couldn’t think of which one… That one past Grissom’s Stretch on the main highway, maybe… Dammit, what’s it called…
Sand Mountain Church––a nondescript house of worship with a dead oak out front, twisted up like an arthritic hand. Those folks had a sketchy reputation in town, but that kind of talk usually went in one ear and out the other.
He ripped their tickets with little effort, putting on his most dignified and regal persona. This was easy work and he felt as though he were doing a great service to the community. He was making a difference in the lives of others––at least that illusion was enough to chew on until he cleaned up the spilled popcorn and empty Styrofoam cups and headed home for the night.
He wanted to make a real difference, though. Someday, he’d have his chance.
9
The place was dark and lit like a haunted house. Alternating green, pink, and yellow neon. Beams and lasers pulse and strobe to music laden with heavy bass and sultry vocals. Cheap perfume and cigar smoke.
Duke and Roger liked the place immediately. They recognized Lilly, one of the dancers. She’d graduated from DHS last year and got knocked up by Stan Cunningham. Her belly was swollen and pale like a dead fish caught in the backwater. She had already popped out one kid that practically begged to be fed, but Momma was doing what she could to put food on the table. Shaking her stuff for cash was just one avenue of income and she found it was something she rather enjoyed, even if Stan was a pissed-off grunt who had little to do with her anymore.
They found a table near the stage and dragged up a couple of chairs. This delightful little black hole in Cullman County was appropriately called, well, The Black Hole. It wasn’t the classiest
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