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There’s a reason I’ve never been to the Red Room – it’s on 82nd Avenue. And it’s a typical dive-sports bar (the menu consists of burgers, grilled cheese, and “freedom fries”) randomly tucked between the Stars Motel and a collection of Asian markets, with giant mugshots of famous rebels lining the walls. I’m pretty sure I’ll never return.
But since I was already at 70-something and Halsey when my friend invited me to her see boyfriend’s band, Council Crest (I just noticed their profile photo is one I took, fyi), and was still at a loss as to what my *new* adventure would be today, I hopped the bus to 82nd to check it out. I enjoyed the company of an elderly Chinese man as we waited at the stop for twenty minutes, who kept pointing to every vehicle that approached (none of which ever looked like a bus), I think trying to ask me, “Is that it?” When it finally pulled up, he looked like he’d won the lottery. At the Max overpass, I transferred to a bus that felt like a rolling version of a bad high school party. I didn’t have far to go, but it was all entertaining. Once I took in the “epic” newness of the Red Room, I had a whiskey and coke, listened to a few songs, and ended up at back at the oh-so-familiar Gold Dust Meridian. And forgot to take a picture!
