Chowchilla Desert Rocks.
White Rocks. Drive-in
movie. Bette worked the
booth, where once you
paid, you got a ticket
that she would tear
off a huge roll.
A red role of tickets and each
ticket was a ride to
funky town. Five movie
screens, bigger than the
moon, loom over us
in that tiny booth, handing
out tickets.
You didn't need the sound
at all. Five different
movies, all going at once,
and I'm at the very center
of this splendid operation
I never want to leave.
But Bette makes me walk
to her trailer. Pure
darkness, white rocks, and
I am lost.