From 'tamaya' Comments

Waiting in the vestibule, Billy studied the nave. He traced its heights, its airy canyons, its decorative clap-trap until he became impatient. Where were they, his friends? Then they turned up, and, after buying tickets at the window, broke into groups. Larry fiddled with his camera-cord until it snapped and the camera fell to the ground with a crash. Together, John and Tamaya marveled at the lamps hung from the rafters, high above them. Tom joined Billy, and together they found seats close to the screen. Soon, they were joined by the rest, and everyone sat down for the show.

Outside, it was getting dark. From the stained-glass the light faded out just as the credits began. Meant to be scary, the old film was only sad. Billy had never seen 'The Phantom Of The Opera' in this version or any. He knew it was from the Twenties and all. A cowled organist played the score from the chancel, adding to the mood. There was plenty of time to catch the sub-titles. People read slower in those days, decided Billy. The niche where the phantom wooed the diva was cool.
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