There is something strange about The Odeon, the old cinema down in the Valley of the Stars. Flashing neon lights make this place glitch every time she walks by. She shivers as graffiti glows hard on the wall outside. A masked woman passes her, nodding shapeless head, a smile stretching the fabric. She feels another glitch come on; the energy is strange here. A Hitchcock wannabe poses outside with grey goose and a perfect pout. But the film directors are long gone and only faded neon lights up her face. Red glitch, yellow glitch, it is a monument to abandoned urban hope.
