Na’alehu, the volcanic ashes. 1000 people living as far south in the 50 states as possible.
The old theater sits abandoned, a relic of the roaring age of Hawaii Hollywood. The lonely sign, once alight with glamor, drips slivers of tired paint down onto crumbling concrete and worn out construction netting. It’s heyday is forever yesterday as the names fade slowly from the marquis.
Movie posters line the hallways in between graffiti and carved “Tom and Cecelia 4-Eva,” and their edges curl and crunch in the thick air, the artists’ renditions of smiling movie stars crumpled and forgotten.
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