I roam the dusty skeleton that was once Westside Video.
"Are there any videos left?" I asked the two men responsible for shelling my favorite video rental store, hinting and hoping to possibly recover one rumored cardboard box of pornos known to haunt the basement. They shake their heads. No. Dammit. Probably ready got it in their truck.
Wall art ("graffiti") decorate the yellow and orange walls reminiscent of something Jonathan, or perhaps Omar. Where racks of comedy films used to be "ha ha ha ha ha ha" remains on the wall however, to my disappointment, the collage of photos has been taken. It feels like I walked in one of Westside video naked but with make up on.
"I owed this business at least forty bucks in late fees," I confess without prompting, "forty bucks I was supposed to pay by delivering a full Thriller dance performance." I continue to talk, "They had a party right before it shut down - I had twenty bucks. I bought a pile of VHS' this high," miming with my hands a tower of about 5 feet.
"I use to get my videos here for Christian Slater night. This was my favorite place... " my voice cracks and is cut off with a loud sob. "Why?" I look at the two men who were kind enough to let me inside to take pictures. They step back and exchange glances.
"WHY!?" I scream to no one in particular.
Dropping to my knees with my hands exalted above my head, "DEAR GOD, WHY!?!?!?" and proceed to crumple into a puddle of tears and wails where the documentaries used to be.
"Are there any videos left?" I asked the two men responsible for shelling my favorite video rental store, hinting and hoping to possibly recover one rumored cardboard box of pornos known to haunt the basement. They shake their heads. No. Dammit. Probably ready got it in their truck.
Wall art ("graffiti") decorate the yellow and orange walls reminiscent of something Jonathan, or perhaps Omar. Where racks of comedy films used to be "ha ha ha ha ha ha" remains on the wall however, to my disappointment, the collage of photos has been taken. It feels like I walked in one of Westside video naked but with make up on.
"I owed this business at least forty bucks in late fees," I confess without prompting, "forty bucks I was supposed to pay by delivering a full Thriller dance performance." I continue to talk, "They had a party right before it shut down - I had twenty bucks. I bought a pile of VHS' this high," miming with my hands a tower of about 5 feet.
"I use to get my videos here for Christian Slater night. This was my favorite place... " my voice cracks and is cut off with a loud sob. "Why?" I look at the two men who were kind enough to let me inside to take pictures. They step back and exchange glances.
"WHY!?" I scream to no one in particular.
Dropping to my knees with my hands exalted above my head, "DEAR GOD, WHY!?!?!?" and proceed to crumple into a puddle of tears and wails where the documentaries used to be.
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