Previews

"Light it up!" exclaimed Jess. "Or we will miss the previews."
Marlo turned from the front seat and gave me an impatient look. "It's too packed. Are you sure we want to do this? The theater is going to be so packed."
"Give it to me," he said in an agitated manner. So I handed him the bowl. "This is why we should have rolled a dutch," said Franklin.
"This movie better be worth it!" stammered Jess. "When was the last time any movie was worth it?" I asked.
 She gave me this look that she gives when I'm on her last nerve, so I backed down and waited for the bowl to be passed around.
"Do you have the one-hitter?" asked Franklin.
"Yes, I totally forgot about that," said Marlo.
"God this is so lame. You guys smoke too much."
"If you don't want any Jared, why don't you go get us seats."
"Who said I didn't want any? Stop giving me so much attitude. I'm just saying, that if we keep smoking before every movie, we'll never be able to enjoy anything sober."
"It's not like the movies," Franklin chimed in, "are good when we're high."
"Ferris Bullier was good," I said.
"Yeah, how long ago was that? And Ferris is a classic. Quit whinin' man. Enjoy."
He passed me the one-hitter.
"Do you think there are cops here? I'm getting paranoid."
"No sweetheart, no cops and nobody cares."
"Aww, okay baby. I love you."
Jess leaned over and her and Marlo went at it for a bit. "I must be toked, Franky,  with their matching hats they look like movie stars."
Franklin laughed.
"Common, let's get out of here. There's too big a crowd in front," said Franklin.
"Seriously you two. . . never mind."
"I can't believe so many people are out tonight. What day is it?"
"Friday. How do you not know what day it is?"
"You think I keep track of such trivial bullshit? Let me have the tickets."
"What for? We've got to wait for them anyway."
"Just give me my ticket, will you? I want to get some Nachos."
"Dude, there's no time. You'll miss the movie."
"I don't care if I miss the movie, the movie is gonna suck anyway. Give me my ticket!"
"Damn man, I want Nachos too."
"I'll get a large. We can share. Soda?"
"That thing is like five bucks man."
"So. It's not like it's your money. We'll split it, what do you want?"
"Coke or Pepsi."
"Alright, see you inside."
"Dude, don't go. I'm mad paranoid around people."
"Bro, easy. Nobody's gonna hurt you."
"It's not that man. What if I run into someone from school? I think I just saw Mandy."
"What? Where?"
"Over there. By the Terminator."
"What, the girl in the plaid skirt?"
"Yeah."
"Bro, that's not Mandy. How high are you?"
"Seriously? Dude I don't want Nachos anymore."
"Okay man, just go back to the car. I'll see you inside. Give me the ticket."
"But they're--"
"Relax. They're always like that. Just go in with them."
This is why I never like smoking with rookies. You'd think by the time you were a senior you'd be able to handle a little weed. . . no wonder they still like the movies. What a waste of time. . . .

"How's the line, Jared?"
"How does it look, Jess?"
"Oh can you get me Milk Duds? Here's three."
"Anything else?"
"No, that's all."
What the hell did I want again? Can't stand when this happens. What the hell kinda weed was that anyway; I should get some for later ...So heady. . .
"Uhm.. a large Pepsi and Milk Duds, and, and, uhm. . Nachos. With cheese.

"Psss, that you?"
"Yeah, sit down."
"How is the movie?"
"How should I know, it just started."
"What did I miss."
"Nothing man. Just watch."
Oh great, everyone is laughing at the corny jokes. I really can't stand the suburbs. There has to be something better to do. I better not end up laughing at any of this. . .
"The Nachos are hot man!"
"I know, eat them before they get cold and soggy."
"The cheese is so good man!"
"Pass them over here."
"Alright, and here are your Milk Duds."
"Still want them?"
"Yes."
"What the hell did we go for anyway. You know how much weed we could have bought. . .  four movie tickets buys a lot of Dro..."
"This isn't Dro."
"No? What is it?"
"Miami Kush."
"Miami? You can't seriously believe this stuff is from Miami."
"Shhhh!"

God I hate going to the movies on the weekend. Everyone makes such a big deal, as if they've never seen a movie before. If this was a good movie. . . but this? Gonna end-up replayed on TV a thousand times a year. It's like they've already anticipated where the commercials are going to be.
"They've anticipated where the commercials are going to be."
"You're right man!" Franklin laughed.
I could be home reading Kafka. Not that'd I'd really be reading Kafka. But, theoretically, I could be home reading Kafka.
"You know we should get high and read Kafka sometime."
"Who?"
"You don't know Kafka?"
"No."
"He's like Poe. But Jewish."
"A Jewish Poe?"
"Yea, kinda. Sorta. I dunno. Yeah."
Why is Franklin's knee pressed against mine. Is he trying to prove who is more liberal? I'm not moving it. Definitely not. No, he's the Homophobe. That part about Mandy was really good. I always knew he was gay. Maybe he's bi. Damn his knee is hot. That kid is on fire. It's the weed. Definitely the weed. Not moving it.He can keep it there all he wants! The cinematography is pretty good. That guy definitely went to a good film school. What a waste of talent. Don't they care about us. If we're gonna dish-out money to spend on such a rotten movie, why don't they believe we'll dish to see a good movie? Those people have to have brains.
"I don't get it. If people pay money, even intelligent ones like us, to see--the crowd erupts in laughter--such--that was so cheesy--garbage, why don't they make good movies . . . just all good movies?"
"Not enough good ideas."
That's a good point. That's why I like Franklin. He always makes good points when I don't expect him to. I can't believe he's going to business school. He should be applying himself. Making something artistic. Not enough good ideas. You know. . .
"All the good ideas are regurgitated anyway. It's the same idea, told in different ways. Just like all the bad ideas. How many times am I going to watch a movie about a guy who can't get the girl, or is trying to lose his virginity. Or SHIT GETTING BLOWN UP! How many different ways, can you blow shit up?"
"Dude, save the philosophizing for after the movie."
Instantly the sound subsumed us. The sound of the engine ripped through the theater moving its way from back to the front as if a turbo-charged Mustang GT500 with six silver chrome-metal exhaust pipes, huffing through the hood, ripped through the middle aisle. The turbulence thrust forward from the screen to the back row like clear-blue water at an amusement park and filled the seats with sonic splashing, so that I felt a sheer kind of somnambulistic joy at the peripheries of my consciousness; and on and on the sound continued its bling zang zang and zig bong gop, alternating between the left and right engines, back and forth like a wave-pool on amphetamines so that the whole theater became quiet and still and everyone momentarily stopped eating while we were consumed, as some wild Oz in the sound-effects studio was flipping switches. Pickaxes were hitting the asphalt, and here we were, little crumbs in a massive mass of concrete mechanics, grease in a gargantuan engine spilling fuel, pumping smoke, chewing metal, a turpentine sense of senseless wonder--and I loved it. The sound sent echos through the walls and reverberated the utterly false sensation of the floor shaking. The awful voices of the horrific, bad teachers I had endured, fell through the tectonic plates that were set in motion beneath the flowerbed of my skull.
I never fully lost my sense of self, my ego always maintained itself, but in its disentanglement from the past, and the nag-nuggets of my sardonic self, the caverns in my stomach seemed held by the sounds, the images, all at play with one another while I watched, focused and re-focused my attention on the aspects of the movie I was not meant to see, gazing upon all that was out of focus. That orb in my pits, kind of like a rotating Jupiter was lassoed by the sensations and its fiber-optic threads sent it spinning out into the Milky Way, while I contemplated the digital pixels of the cinematic sun, setting beneath the blown-up, giant actors. My eyes sunk in their sockets and I felt my body slump in the chair as the machine swallowed me. I was drifting through the film, a micro-spec on the screen, floating along.