Expiring Popcorn

 The usher stands outside the cinema screens holding a bin bag and a brush, collecting the rubbish and impressions of the audience who walk by. Swarms of ‘oh darling’ WASPy wannabe Ladies who clink their ‘dry white, 2 ice cubes’ glasses and cackle at jokes about things that are ‘such a bother’. Will I grow to want my nails painted professionally salmon pink? Maybe a designer bra will seem ‘a necessity’ to push my tits back up as they start to sag. I hope I don’t eat a packet of gourmet popcorn and ‘oops silly me!’ leave the dropped wrapper on the floor for someone else…to maintain me.

I watch the ‘silver screen’ pensioner customers and wonder if I will think much about how I am old when I am really really old. The props of age must clutter up your carefree mind: Sticks, and pills, 3 pairs of glasses, coughs and shakes… making you moody! Maybe it all doesn’t matter, if you’ve still got someone holding your wrinkly hand (and a weekly routine lil’ dose of escapism at the ‘silver screen’). Perhaps time feels different when you’re old, as it takes you so much longer for your body to do anything. When you have so many memories that are compressed and reworked in your mind, do you dream more of what you once did, rather than (like me) trying to picture what you could/ should do? Maybe spending your free time (and my paid time) at the cinema isn’t such a bad way to live hey.

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