Cinetastic!

The ambiguous hippy - we shall call him Fern, cause that's what you call him - stopped plunking on his ukulele long enough to focus on me and pose a request. Outside, past the sleeping geriatric beagle on the sidewalk, past the shifty eyed meth dealers - the moon hung somber and majestic in the navy sky.
The whispering moan of surf crash black sand obscuring shadowy lovers of both sexes as I stood in the doorway of the Aquamarino Cafe - cool breeze blows across thin cotton shirt, snazzy jazz warbles over the speakers.
"Hey." Fern quacks "Manana is movie night here - you have anything you wanna to play? I am tapped out."
"Do I?" I degenerate into spastic geek movie goer mode. Gesticulating maniacally I dive into a long winded spiel on the art film DVD's that I own - Naked Lunch, Mala Noche, Salo:120 Days of Sodom, My Own Private Idaho, Female Trouble, Itchi the Killer and scores of others.
Fern seems to enjoy my quick synopsis of Naked Lunch - being a pot connoisseur, I think he will dig it.
So, the stage is set - the screen is risen and I will educate these locals with the double threat of Cronenberg and Burroughs....