The movie park on Willows and Son is a dark, shadowy place, halfway between debates of shutdown and possible federal agreements. Built in the late forties, The Willows Cinamax has six dimly lit rooms with ivory slopping seats and dark shadowed corners, within which unattended dust has curled over the years. The lobby, within which the grey tiles have begun to chip and fade, has one ticket booth which is usually unattended, leaving potential customers to walk directly through. The Willows Cinamax plays only old and unfortunate movies, late forties and fifties film festival fall downs, cartoons which are chipped and hollow sounding, and movies without sound in them at all. There is no hope for finding a bucket of popcorn or a gallon of coke in the Willows Cinamax - those are the kind of sad and sorry disabilities which hinder here, the kind of thing which might cause you to turn around and look for another form of entertainment.
The Willows Cinamax is a dark and lonely place, like a very old child who has lost all of his friends, sitting and waiting for the day when light will come, but somehow, falling apart in the process.
It is now that I tell you of why I am even mentioning The Willows Cinamax, why I am bothering to inform you of a place you will likely never see, and more likely, never come to your use. This is the time where you have the choice to shut this book or continue. One more paragraph, and your choice has been made......
It just so happened that the day the Reps for the Willows Cinamax were advertising, was the very same day Lilith O’Connor happened to pick up the paper. She wasn’t exactly looking for a job, not in that particular moment, although the thought had crossed her mind previous to her current action. It was Saturday, mid July, and the air was hazy and heavy. Traffic slipped and coughed on the roadway outside the tiny brick flat which, in the last eight months, Lilith had learned to call home.
Now this action, picking up the paper, may not seem that odd to you, if you are someone who likes to keep up with the times, an avid reader perhaps. But for Lilith, this was extremely, potently unusual, for she was the type of person who would rather spend hours watching television she did not enjoy, than pick up a book.
In the heat, the words, which were raw and unusual to Lilith, seemed to be a large, dark cloud, tripping over each other on the endless journey to the bottom of the page. Paragraphs making long, sore words, beating at Lilith like a displeased teacher. The refrigerator hummed in the stillness, somewhere below a dog barked, hollow and deep.
Although she was not renowned for being particularly smart, Lilith knew by the time she had reached paragraph eight, the judging of political rights in foreign countries, on page A8, something had changed, for the better, she wasn’t sure. Tapping her fingernails, which some of you might be interested, were painted crimson to match her died jet black hair, Lilith glanced up. The clock across the room read 8:09 am.
The house was an eery quiet, matched only by the constant drone of the fridge, the far off screech of traffic on I-900. If you read the paper a lot, or even if you don’t, you will know that when you are sitting in a quiet area, paper, newspapers in particular, tend to made a lot of fuss and quite a bit more noise when the reader is trying to turn the page. Lilith, holding one side of the paper down her right elbow and unsticking the other side, was immediately met by a large, but at the same time, blank advertisement:
:Willows Cinamax:
Workers needed in campaigning for
renovation. Your time is greatly appreciated.
If interested, please call 562 - 905- 342.
Jason will be available during the weekdays
from 8:00 am to 6:00 pm.
Lilith stared dumbly at the advertisement, sucking on her bottom lip as she often did when met with something she was not quite sure of. Sure, she had time. Not time she wanted to share. Especially if there was no money involved. No, Hana would like that, campaigning for something. Nah. No way. Not in this world.
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