08 CINEMA PRIVÉ

It wasn’t the plan. But the title on the faded poster pulled at something – half memory, half impulse. So now here you are: in a near-empty cinema, surrounded by tarnished gold trim, soft shadows, the creak of old cedar floors. The projector starts up with a humming whir, and a wash of dust-flecked amber light flickers over velvet seats. From somewhere: a sweet waft of tobacco, perhaps imagined, perhaps just the theatre itself. The first piano notes shimmer like they’ve been playing this scene for years – waiting for you to walk in.