>>30677141 I began to vomit. Trying to fight it, the image of that blood compelled that meat to return where it came. I tried to unbutton the coat cocoon in time, but could not grasp the threads with my greasy fingers. I pressed my mouth against the hole previously meant for movietime enjoyment and vomited hard. Far removed from a clean escape, my gastric juices dripped lazily down the coat while bolder wads of meat ricocheted onto the cushions of the next row. It was only after the music credits rolled did the chunks of oily stuffing ceased plopping on the cheaply-carpeted floor. Clearing my throat, I stood up amidst my own regurgitated matter and shuffled out of the theater. Desperately trying to avoid touching my arms or chest to the inside of the vomit-soaked coat, I rushed to the bathroom to clean up. Running into the stall, I then stripped nude and washed all my clothes in the toilet water, too afraid to be seen as the puking perpetrator. A brilliant idea then crossed my mind; what if I used the turkey bag to store my overcoat and washed it later?
Sheepishly emerging from the stall after the bag of turkey bones failed to flush, I hold my puke-stained overcoat in the transparent greasy bag that once held my movie snack. Right before I leave, a nameless cinema employee confesses about "That mess in theater 5". Overwhelmed by curiosity, I take one look behind and his eyes lock with mine. A transformation of curiosity to disgust to outright rage unfolds on his face. I run.
I am no longer allowed in Regal Cinemas.
