Letter 3 – A-maze-ing

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Dear Alamo Drafthouse,

While I greatly appreciate and am overwhelmed by the appearance of Tim League in my inbox, I want you to know my letters will continue to pile up until I’m reading headlines about the Alamo breaking ground in Atlanta. Fuck Chandler, Arizona.  Any town named after a character from Friends is a dubious undertaking at best. Though I do hear that Joey, CA is delightfully goofy and charming.

That said, I really do appreciate the responses I’ve received so far.  I feel just like an idealistic young girl swept up into a labyrinth of dreams.  It was as if Tim himself appeared before me, dripping in leather and tights, blowing glass balls of hope into my inbox.  Caught in the glass of the foremost ball, I can almost make out a beautiful new Drafthouse on a hill, some unfathomable distance away.  Probably somewhere in Midtown. Between where I stand and that far off vision lies a quagmire of walls, doors, dead ends, blind alleys, bogs, and a colorful cast of anthropomorphic muppets.  Yes, definitely Midtown Atlanta.

Believe me, I don’t relish the job of lone petitioner.  I didn’t ask for this.  But as the sole petitioner for an Atlanta location, I feel like this is my baby, and it’s my responsibility to see this through.  Through dangers untold and hardships unknown, I will fight my way to an Atlantan Drafthouse. For my will is as strong as yours, and Atlanta is as great.

This letter writing journey will undoubtedly be fraught with peril and moments of despair.  I’m sure at some point I will begin to get lazy and may even fall into a deep well of disillusion.  But there will always be hands outreached to stop my fall.  I might be lulled into comfort and submission by some local theaters, trying to make me one of their own by piling on crap promotions and membership clubs.  But it’s all junk.  It’s a poison peach I refuse to take another bite into.  (Get it? Peach?? Georgia??? It’s like meta.  Actually I’m not sure if i’m using ‘meta’ correctly).

You all can sit there in Austin, singing songs and laughing and having a gay old time, watching me struggle from afar.  But keep an eye on the clock.  Before it hits 13 I will be ascending those crazy fucked up Escher stairs, and on the day your King finally opens the doors to this great city, I’ll look him dead in the eye and tell him he no longer has power over me.  Then he’ll turn into an owl and fly out the door, presumably back to y’all.

Sincerely and Respectfully,

Nick

Loyal Alamo Drafthouse Patron

Atlanta, GA

 

P.S. Is it weird that Sir Diddymus is a dog, and his mount Ambrosius is also a dog?

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