You lie in bed at night and dream. Perhaps you dream about fast cars, money, and freedom. Or, maybe, nightmares, with goblins, ghoulies and psychotic ex-lovers. You lie drifting off, wishing you were someone else, or the perfect comeback to an argument you had four years ago. It feels so real, you can taste the perfect mixture of bliss, or the icy clutches of terror. And when you wake up, you start your normal, mundane, G-Class-less life, not being chased by the corpse of a long-dead pirate captain. But you’re looking forward to the following night’s adventures, or dreading the impending horrors of your subconscious.

What if I told you my perfect dream is happening? I’m living it, and I’m excited to wake up the next morning knowing that reality is better than my dreams. “What?” you say. “How can a 22-year-old man, with a 2003 Jeep Wrangler, and nothing to his name except a few pairs of Levis, be living his ultimate fantasy?” Well, I’m not, really, I’m mostly just exaggerating this for exposition.

“But then what is your dream, Nathanial?”

It’s when movie theaters no longer exist.

I’ve watched, and waited. Sharpened my spear, and covered myself in body-heat-proof mud. All for the day when movie theaters become nothing but a shopping mall for Hollywood schlack. Pushing no narrative except, “Money, please!”

I can’t wait for the day when Marvel announces “Captain Can’t Die vs. Cookie-Cutter Villain #5: The Final 2-Part Anthology Prequel of the 3rd Remake to the 1st Movie’s Subplot’s Antagonist’s Wet Dream Until You See the End of the Credits and We Tease #6.” And I’m sitting at home, not being assaulted by the sounds of a man and his entire family seemingly fighting with what sounds like assault forks over the last nacho covered in extra liquid cheese.

By that time, Regal will be owned by Disney, and Amazon and Netflix will be where I go to watch my movies. And I’m so excited. No longer will I have to worry about sitting through seven Fathom Events commercials about stuff no one ever sees. And I will be able to turn the lights off; click a button; and watch something amazing, thought provoking, and created by actual people, and not a focus group. My money, of course, will partially go to Amazon and Netflix. But that bit that doesn’t will go right to the group of artists that spent so much time making a movie they’d want to watch. Not the pockets of some exec who just made it for monetary gain.

Maybe it will happen in my lifetime, maybe it won’t, but all I know is that in 20 years Elon Musk will have invented a cerebral microchip to stream movies directly to the TVs installed in the back of our eyelids.

But I’m so excited for the end.