Letter 16 – When Atlanta met Drafthouse

Dear Alamo Drafthouse –

Hello from Atlanta!  It’s Nick again. The fact that you’re not answering my emails anymore leads me to believe that you are either a) not checking your inbox b) not making any plans to come to Atlanta or c) checking your inbox, desperately wanting to reply, but trapped under something heavy and unable to reach the keyboard.  If it’s either a or c please write me back.

I guess it’s time to get out there again, start seeing movies, and stop all this moaning.  I’m just afraid of what’s out there. I mean, sometimes I think I just miss the idea of the Drafthouse.  No.  I miss the whole Drafthouse.  It is so nice to be in a movie and not have to listen to someone talk.  Sometimes it’s not even talk.  Like the other night I was in this movie theatre and another theatre patron was making noise that wasn’t even human. She actually meowed.  That’s what I have to deal with here when I go to an AMC.

I can’t even fake it anymore. It’s tough reading the news and updates about other locations opening up.  I can’t help thinking that one of these theatres is supposed to be the one Atlanta should be getting instead, and if I don’t get the next one I’ll have to spend the rest of my life knowing that someone else is sitting in my theatre.  Why can’t I have what they’re having?  How long do I have to wait?  You know how a year to a person is like seven years to a dog? Can’t we be friends?

Anyways, I write these letters because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life going to one movie theatre chain, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.  It has to be you.


Nick from Atlanta

P.S. You should have a special screening of WHMS with chef salad and apple pie ala mode, aka ‘the Sally Albright’ but make sure the pie is heated and the ice cream shouldn’t be on top, it should go on the side, and strawberry instead of vanilla if you have it, if not then no ice cream just whipped cream but only if it’s real; if it’s out of the can then nothing; just the pie, but not heated. If not that, I’m sure folks would be proud to partake of your pecan pie.

P.P.S. I really tried to work in a ‘Don’t fuck with Mr. Zero’ joke in there but that shit just didn’t come up naturally.  Mr. Zero knew.

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