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But sometimes, when I’m driving late on a back road, I’ll catch a flicker in the treeline. A white rectangle where no rectangle should be. I’ll roll down my window, and for a second—just a second—I’ll hear the faint crackle of a movie that isn’t playing anymore.

By 3 AM, the crowd had thinned. The convertible left first, the boy driving one-handed, the girl asleep against his shoulder. The station wagon followed, its brake lights two red commas disappearing into the kudzu. The family on the sedan roof climbed down reluctantly, folding their blanket into a square. free drive movies