When Earl speaks, I listen
I am here alone in the green Room of "The Earl", a club on the Eastside, eating a medium rare burger with unexpectedly unsalted fries. I came in here partially to get away from the discordant din of sound check and partially to get my head together because I started to feel scattered.

I find the inside of clubs when they are well lit and empty, exposed in the brightness of the day to be completely unnatural. The dirt and wear is glaring, the normally swank looking ultra hip furniture is irreparably soiled and the alien glow of sentinel stage lights that normally hide dirty little building violations, are dead asleep.
It's like a heroin user harshly accused by morning sunlight.

The walls are paper thin in here and it seems louder than if I had stayed out in front of the big monitors. With each beat of the kickdrum, my soda cup walks slowly towards the lip of the table. I watch with interest and then snatch it up before it falls.
Bubbles angrily foam up in protest.

The feel of the room settles on me, breathing heavy like a pervert in a bus depot. I have always had the odd habit of anthropomorphizing rooms and buildings. Some places have seen so much go by, the air is thick with scenarios and you can't help but breathe it in.
I can close my eyes and see them click by one by one - View Master style.
Fights and drugs and nerves, kisses, drinking, napping, smoking and scores of hasty blowjobs hang on invisible hooks.

When I open my eyes I laugh out loud because the room has already been speaking to me this entire time and I had scarcely noticed. The graffiti is so thick, it supports the walls with a glut of cheap stickers, ill-conceived band names and garrulous profanities scrawled in shaky narcotic hand. The layers upon layers of lipstick, markers and spray paint give the room such structure that a single bottle of 409 would wreak equivalent destruction as Mrs. O'Leary's cow.

The room shouts at me while I finish my dinner and I feel as if it rushes to judge me quicker than I can judge it.
The following are direct quotes taken from the walls of the green room at The Earl:

"Your band plays trick music"

"Bob LOG the III has one ugly ball but the other one is beautifully serene like angel kisses"

"donnie - yer coke is in the toilet paper dispenser in the restroom luv NRC"

"I enjoy negro labia"

"faith, i think we should get married"

"ANDY'S MOM IS FRESH LEE'S DADDY IS EXPIRD"

"Soon you will be tumbling in ointment!"

"I feel awkward."

I am out in the club proper now. The lights go down and the background music comes up. Thick clouds of cigarette smoke seem to appear out of nowhere even though people are just now filing in murmuring to each other. The bands will start to play soon and I am writing in the dark like kids during summer vacation nights, playing way past the point where you can actually see the ball.
I sneak back into the green room with sharpie in hand to hang my proverbial hat and leave my mark among the restless.