By CL Bledsoe

Tucked in a strip mall between a nasty taco
joint that made a mean biscuits and gravy,

and a hair salon full of bored 20-somethings
who spent the whole time trying

to upsell you. The carpet was some faded,
filthy shade that might’ve once been green

and brown or just years of stains. Tuesday’s
new releases up front, crowded and picked clean

by Friday afternoon. Maybe you paused
in the classics, but everyone’s seen those

or decided they never will long ago. Maybe
you try the drama or action but those are just new

releases that are no longer new. In the back,
on the wall: the true destination. A video shop

could be judged by its horror section. Obscure, silly
titles you never heard of, imported Italian insanity.

Every once in a while you find that low-budget
gem that makes the night worth wasting. They

had overpriced popcorn covered in dust. They
had sodas flatter than the earth. They had used

VHS for sale to make room for DVDs sometimes
cheaper to buy than to rent. When they were gone,

they weren’t going to be replaced.

Stuff My Stupid Heart Likes by CL Bledsoe (co-author of and The Wild Word:

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