Don't-Drive-In Movies

I live very much in the center of town. If I called NYC home, my tiny apartment would cost approximately eleventy thousand a month and there'd be a doorman with gold braid on his coat. Instead, my rent check goes out at less than four hundred bucks, and there's a plastic skull over my porch light.

Good thing, too, because my friends and I ain't exactly what you would call the monied class. Mostly, we're the drinking class. Though we don't have a lot of cash, we do tend to be clever fuckers, so we make our own fun. We're getting a little burnt out on just listening to music and getting a buzz on, which seems to be the drill for Friday nights and special occasions right now, so this week we came up with a new and truly awesome fun time: the Firestone Outdoor Theater. The only Don't Drive In movies in the county.

Ever see Escape from New York projected on a two story high outside wall? A twenty foot tall Snake Plisskin kicks so much ass, I can't even tell you. See, my back parking lot - hidden from street view on all sides and lacking residential neighbors - is bordered on one side by the tall end of a local auto repair shop. It makes a beautiful movie screen when a friend brings over a dvd projector that may or may not have fallen off a truck.

So there we were, maybe ten friends sitting in two rough lines, swigging beers and answering back to the movie. Over our heads comes the party patrol helicopter. It circled us four times and then flew off. Can you imagine how weird we all looked from above, sitting there in the dark, all facing the same direction in a hidden parking lot in the middle of down town? I tell you this much: they'll have another chance to try and figure it out come Friday.