Middle City

They don’t film movies here. This city is too ugly. Devoid of character. Caught between the Rustbelt and the bible belt, it makes for a lot of pavement. Anything filmed here would have to be during the wintertime. Immediately following a snowfall, when the snow masks the ugliness with glistening white round caps and before the buses and the plows and the dirty boots grey everything over. The film would move slowly and involve a group of similarly aged characters dressed in vintage store clothing. Nothing much happens but sad declarations of love and well-photographed scenes inside of old buildings while an indie rock score ties it all together as the subtle, odd resolution ends abruptly. And while the credits roll, the audience members stare into their the cell phones and look at their companions’ faces for an opinion; they then leave with a confused, despondent feeling that they quickly want to eat away at a P.F. Chang’s or a burger bar. Maybe later in the day or the next, they smoke a joint or have a few drinks and realize, Goddammit that film is my life. That scene when the lead character regrets not following the love of the other lead character and they said words that they will never again get to say — I should’ve done that too. I really liked that movie. Where was it filmed? I want to live there with those characters.

But, alas, they don’t film movies here.

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