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Alex opened his mouth to explain, but no sound came out. The velvet chair folded into itself like origami, and he fell through the floor—not into darkness, but into a vast, endless theater lobby. The carpet was made of film strips. The walls were screens, each playing a different movie at once. And he was now a projectionist, doomed to splice together the worst parts of every film ever made, forever.

He hadn’t chosen a love.

The website was impossibly minimalist. Black background. White text. A single input box with the words: Enter the name of any movie. Any at all. 3 movie rulze.com