Pulp Fiction

It felt like danger.

Here we are, 26 years down the road from that night.

When I sat smushed in the middle of a crowded, small-town theater and let Quinten Tarantino inject pure cinematic heroin into my open veins.

Reservoir Dogs hit first, but only on VHS where I lived.

So John Travolta’s phoenix-like rise from the ashes, the arrival of Samuel L. Jackson, and the birth of Uma Thurman as a screen goddess combined to provide that first big slap to the head.

It was new and fresh and wild, and, all these years later, it hasn’t lost a thing.


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