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.
