Hayden stands, hands on hips, and gazes up at the elaborate crown molding. "I wish I'd seen this place in its heyday. I bet it was something."
It had to have been. You can imagine people dressed up for a night out at the movies, streaming up the two short staircases that lead into the theater auditorium.
Now it's doubly sad, bearing the scars of its failure to be either a theater or a store. The store must have closed before you got to Winfield Phillips, as you'd never seen it open.
"I know that people saw movies here, and then bought embarrassingly trendy clothes here, and now it's empty."
"It does have these great movie posters." You point at one for a movie called Buffalo '66.
Hayden gives you a sardonic look. "Doesn't look like my kind of movie."
"No clue," you say. "I never saw it."
Hayden flicks a hanger on a clothing rack. It chimes against its neighbors. "In some ways, I wouldn't mind if the college bought this place, as long as they do right by it. And by downtown."