Dear Alamo Drafthouse,
Many apologies for the delay good sirs and ladies of Austin. I reached the end of a hellish week solving problems and had nothing else on my mind besides making myself a caucasian and maybe taking a trip to the In-N-Out. Sadly, I had a run-in with a couple of brainless meatheads and then had to run home before my dog, who isn’t entirely house trained, peed all over the rug. I can’t abide the dog being upset. For all I know it’s hair would fall out. He’s a neurotic fucking show dog. Needless to say it was a long night and I apologize for not checking in on time.
Boy I tell you, I miss the highball. The old highball. The new one is great, don’t get me wrong. But I miss those lanes. Not that I was any good at golfing mind you. Still – it was a great place to hang out. Man, I had some weird conversations in that place over the years. Militant jews, urban cowboys, a few guys that looked like pedos, even the occasional nihilist in the parking lot. It was an eclectic mix of people, and kind of a central social club for the Alamo and people who liked movies. Maybe I just haven’t found that yet here in Atlanta, but in a city that’s so big it’s like people here have given up on social centers like that. I think it’s something Atlanta could really use to tie the city together.
Anyways, part of my reason for writing you these letters is to keep Atlanta in your brain. And I do realize that it is for selfish reasons. Maybe not everyone in this town needs an awesome place to see movies, eat good food and make friends with the person sitting next to you during a quote-a-long. But I do. I am the person who benefits the most from this. But sometimes there’s a man. Sometimes there’s a man – lost my train of thought here. But aw hell, the point is if one man takes the time to write a letter every week, there are probably a few more that are thinking the same thing.
I mean, am I over the line on this one? Am I wrong? I’m not throwing together a slide deck of the metrics for financial risk here. I would be out of my element going that route. But I know there are people here who have been to the Alamo, and we’re not ready to give it up. When you get divorced you don’t turn in your fucking library card. You don’t get a new license, you don’t go to a Regal 56.
Anyways, I should be signing off. I don’t write on shabbos. Unless it’s an emergency.
Nicholai, Nick… El Nickerino if you’re not into the whole brevity thing.
Loyal Alamo Drafthouse Patron