Fridays were special growing up. Mom and Dad would drive my sister and me to Video Playhouse. It was our small-town version of Blockbuster, housed in a building with a false Western façade amid what passed for our dusty “downtown.”
I recall the excitement of navigating to my favorite sections in the store: action and horror. My parents were permissive about what we could watch, in part because it was limited, anyway. The building always felt like a cool oasis, a respite from the scorching summers of Southern California. I remember the scent and the sound of those plastic snap-close cases and the intriguing cover art inviting us to watch and see more. Each of us would usually be allowed to take home one movie and, in my case, also a console game. Three days to slay the dragon.
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