Another photo for the Writing To A Photograph project. Photo provided by my friend Jade in Japan. My writing to this photograph below.
We used to go to this little theater—no more the 30 seats—but a few blocks from our apartment. We always sat in the same seats, rear of the theater, stage left. Her with her little snacks valiantly trying to open them quietly, me with a bottle of beer, snuck in in my coat.
They showed smaller budget movies, stuff that the cineplexes would pan, and an odd mix of theater. But usually we saw art flicks which afterwards we would have a vigorous discussion about their merits, or lack thereof.
There was a marionette show, which I found tedious, but she enjoyed immensely. She could sense my boredom and her hand slipped down between my legs and held me warmly. That was all it took, nothing more. We even saw an X-rated movie once—me faintly interested but her eyes clenched shut almost the entire time.
Now I’m sitting here alone, the seat next to me empty. My seat seems less comfortable, the temperature isn’t quite right, the lighting is off—I’m blinking a lot in discomfort, shifting in my seat. A verse from the Conquerer Worm by that sage Edgar Allan Poe pushes into my mind:
Lo! ’t is a gala night
  Within the lonesome latter years! Â
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
  In veils, and drowned in tears, Â
Sit in a theatre, to see
  A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully Â
  The music of the spheres.
 I sigh.