Letter 2 – Get Busy Writin’


Alright, Alamo.

I’d tried to play it your way.

It’s now clear to me that one email asking for you to spread your wings and fashion a cinephile nest among the green trees of Atlanta will not elicit any noticeable action. Apparently I must pick up the wooden spoon of righteousness and stir the pot of emotional appeal fervently enough to get some to spill onto you. So let’s do this. Let’s Andy Dufresne this shit.

That’s right. I’m going to write you a letter once a week until you break ground on a location in Atlanta, Georgia. And then two letters a week until Tim League himself gets his out here out and cuts the ribbon with a fresh Mint Julep in his hand. Yeah. BTW we drink Mint Juleps here and you should have it on your menu. It’s a thing.

Every letter I send from here on out will be themed, peppered if you will with references to one particular movie. I’m doing this simultaneously to demonstrate my commitment both to getting you here, and to show you that there are literally dozens of us here, tired of doing time in the regal and loews cineplexes of this great city. We’ve been institutionalized, but a few of us are still holding on to something… hope.

Some of my friends have told me to give up on writing. They tell me that hope can drive a man insane. They tell me I better get used to the idea of consuming horse feedbag-sized buckets of buttery cardboard and paying nine dollars for a coke. “Like you did?” I say. Then they just throw down their spoons on their metal tray of shit prison food and get up and walk away.

Truth be told, there’s not a day goes by I don’t regret leaving Austin. I look back on myself and the way I was. A young, stupid kid who had no idea how good he had it, watching a Planet of the Apes marathon at the Ritz, just on a lark. I want to talk to him. I want to talk some sense to him and get him to appreciate what he had. But that kid is gone and this old (er) man is all that’s left. I have to live with that.

So you go on Sonny and you delete this message, because frankly, …. wait… no I do give a shit. Come to Atlanta already!



Loyal Alamo Drafthouse Patron

Atlanta, GA

P.S. His Judgement cometh and that Right soon.

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