The juxtaposition between the in and outside of the movie theater is parallel to no other.  Stepping inside the commercialized center of buying tickets, food and beverages creates an aura of anxiousness and commotion. Blatant conversations of future films are just buzz to fill in the gaps of binging on popcorn intended to be consumed during the film. The movie posters, the emerald and violet neon lights are just distractions from the intended goal of attending the theatre. As I roam into Theatre 7, finally with ease after the circus of the exterior, I gaze around at the scarlet drapery. The screen displaying the motion picture illuminates light onto the cloaks hanging over the sides of room. I’m slightly congested in a vintage velvet chair that abrade my bare thigh as I attempt to find a suitable position for the rest of the film. The chairs were designed to be carbon copies of one another, but like anything, with time lacerations and imperfections create authentic pieces of furniture. Synthetic wooden arm rests lay beside me. Popcorn in hand.  A symbol of cinema and an array of unconformity. The film begins.