#colourmejackson

There was something about theater entrances. Perhaps because it was abandoned, preserved in the shadows of the outskirts of a town. A place which NJ had come across on his travels to Antarctica, so who better to take to such a beautiful place than Jackson? The front was beginning to chip away and cave in, light bulbs which used to be illuminating big show-letters were missing and the glass was cracked from anarchists and the harsh blows of Nature. Cracks and limbs missing from the statues that decorated the entrance were vivid.  Leading the way in by linked hands, NJ bounded excitedly into the theater, grinning as they gazed at the enormous room ahead of them. Golden chandeliers dusted over hung from the ceiling, and the embossed wall paper was beginning to shred off. Rows of velvet seats, untouched by anyone for a long time. All facing toward an empty stage where ballerinas danced and Opera singers performed, once appreciated decades ago by rich members of society.