Science Fiction/Double Feature

[whistlersmum]

'May the drive-in never die', Whistler thought to himself.

It was just past dusk, and The Blob was about to ooze itself across the outdoor screen. He'd hooked the speaker inside-out on the Impala's driver-side window, so the audio would project outward. He rested against the windshield, shoes off so as to not scuff the new paint on the hood. It'd cost him enough to get out of the impound and repaired. He wasn't about to cause any more damage.

A cooler full of beer sat on the roof of the car, an open can to his right. A jumbo bag of popcorn rested on his lap.

This took him back. The Globe in England; the Colliseum in Rome; watching Oedipus Rex in the original Greek. But nothing compared to a good old-fashioned drive-in theater.

And Steve McQueen. No one could touch him. Not even Olivier.

(Open to anyone.)

Comments

[tiny_dancer81]

Theresa loved the movies.

As a human, before she discovered the wonders of cocaine, she used to go there with her parents. It was one of the few good memories of what was generally a shitty home life. As a vampire, she'd gone to see films with her sire, at least when she could get him off his ass to go with her. Now that Dane wasn't around anymore, it was nostalgic for her.

She'd gotten the biggest bucket of popcorn they offered, and the largest soda. Not that refreshments mattered when she couldn't really taste them, but she liked the crunch and the fizz. It was the principle of the thing.

Clarence's orange paint job made the Beetle stand out from the other vehicles in the lot, so it was easy to make her way back to the car. She'd parked next to another old beater, an Impala. There was an older dude sitting on the hood of the car. Theresa arranged her purchases on the hood of the Volkswagen, plucked a few kernels of popcorn out of the bag. She hadn't seen The Blob in ages.

[brian_campo]

Brian frowned. He probably wouldn’t have made the connection, if he weren’t stoned and thereby capable of some serious free association. His memory scratched up an image of a moon-faced Hollywood starlet in a massive string of pearls, wavy hair and a tutu-looking dress.

“What a minute… Mary Pickford. Oscar winner Mary Pickford from that black and white movie?”

Forehead wrinkled in true confusion.

“Dude, how old are you?” He thumped Theresa’s arm and gave her the weed, washing down the taste of it with his beer.

[brian_campo]

He shook it off, a mental and physical tick of his head that dismissed the topic out of hand. "Forget it. Paranoia." Brian dropped the spent joint on the ground and stamped out the smoldering end. "Well." He scratched behind his ear. "I'm fried. I'm gonna," he jerked a thumb at his car. "Whistler, it was nice to meet you. Theresa, I'll see you at the Dive. Don't forget about New Year's."

He shuffled around the front end of his car and climbed back inside.