Chapter Two
Joaquin
I picked the spot in front of the shuttered theater because it seemed like the perfect place for a gourmet popcorn cart. For over a year, I’d rolled up every day and unloaded the cart under the marquee affixed with the title of the last movies shown there.
Theater. Popcorn. A perfect match.
On this particular day, I was running a little late because a high-end sedan was parked in the slot where I always stopped the truck to roll off the cart.
It was technically a loading zone, although nobody had unloaded anything there in a very long time.
I had the choice of either waiting for whoever was parked there to leave—presumably within the loading minutes allowed—or find another spot to park and wheel the cart back.
Since there was a lot of foot traffic building up, I didn’t want to waste any time. Usually, I left my pickup in the city parking on the next block, so I headed that way and found an empty slot.
I climbed out and went around back, grumbling under my breath.
The cart did roll, but it was a little top heavy and needed new wheels.
I’d been planning to replace them soon, but my profit margin was so low, I put off anything that could be delayed.
The few feet I normally had to push it were no big deal. But a couple of blocks?
The wheels clanked, the containers of flavors and colors rattled, and I caught two glass jars just before they would have hit the ground.
People were looking out of windows and doors, eyes wide, and I fought back embarrassment by reminding myself that I was getting some attention.
Maybe someone who hadn’t noticed the cart would see and decide to come buy a treat later.
I tried to return their stares with a friendly smile and wave while still managing to keep the wheels rumbling in the right direction.
Finally making it to the corner, I finagled my way around it, moving the cart back and forth until it was headed in the right direction.
It would be nice to have wheels that actually turned.
One day, I hoped to be able to buy a newer version, but for now, I was pretty happy with what I had managed to achieve.
The car was still parked in the loading zone and a glance at my watch showed it been a half hour, which was the time limit for actual loading according to the sign.
Passenger vehicles were allowed only five.
In addition to being a theme—popcorn and movie theater—the loading zone allowed people to see me.
Nobody parked there. Nobody even unloaded there with the theater closed.
It was one spot along the main street where my little business was not hidden behind parked cars or trash cans or light posts.
There was an area where food trucks congregated, and I was allowed to set up shop there, but the two times I tried, my sales weren’t great. It seemed that most people were there for meals or just couldn’t spot me among the much larger trucks and carts.
At least the car was low, but it was still blocking me somewhat. Surely they would leave soon.
I’d stood in front of this theater for months now, and the posters in the shadow boxes on either side of the lobby entrance were for movies so old, I had never even heard of them.
No light had ever shone from inside, but I often wondered what it had been like when the theater was in its heyday.
Some of the older people who stopped to buy a bag of my caramel turtle corn or brown-butter special liked to talk about growing up in a time when they could take a date to a movie or go with friends.
One old wolf shifter said when he was a preteen, he theater-hopped every Saturday, paying for one and seeing at least three.
He told the story with great pride, and I didn’t blame him.
Young and mischievous, he must have been a real firecracker.
But today, as I set up my cart, something felt different.
The popper was spilling fresh corn into the basket, sending its enticing scent into the air, and I was setting up the menu board with today’s flavors.
I usually did three to five kinds, depending on how busy things seemed.
Today, I planned to prepare the caramel corn with peanuts, so I would need to prepare the fresh caramel on the single-burner stove.
It was one of my biggest sellers, likely because it was a higher-end version of a childhood treat.
I went around the street side and bent to get my thick-bottomed candy pot out of the storage area.
Straightening, I blinked hard. What the…
Instead of posters for movies from before I was born, the shadow boxes held Coming Soon!
Classic Movies in the Fully Restored Oliver Creek Cinema.
And there was something about a film festival.
Also, signs adorned with the traditional dancing candy boxes, soft drink cups, and popcorn tubs.
Was the theater really opening again? For just a second, I got excited because I loved going to the movies, but if it was, my little niche cart was not going to be able to sell popcorn out here in front of a brick-and-mortar snack bar selling almost the same thing.
Probably not fancy flavors, but still. The new owner would have me chased away and back to the food-truck lot in five minutes. Where I sold nothing.
Crap.