We stand in front of an impossibility. A building that shouldn't exist.
And it's a big building, impossible to ignore. Except...
I've driven past this spot a million times--make it a billion--and I've never seen it. Hell, I've walked past it a million times. But she says it was there all along.
A chill courses along my spine as I stare. It's an old-school theater, complete with a big marquee--two white display boards framed in brass and light bulbs, angling from the building's façade to meet in a point over the sidewalk. The marquee's dark tonight, the boards are empty, but the name of the place curls in unlit neon letters atop each side. And it's spelled out in block letters on a tall neon sign that is lit, glowing dim red, mounted along the side of the building.
Atlas. That's
