THE GREEN ROOM (A DREAM) 2017

I’m in a small bar the size of a living room. There are a few round tables in front of a short row of booth sofas with green exterior. There’s barely any wall exposed, but instead a busy work of cabinets pictures planters and confectionery decorations. There are a few people sitting at the tables- two couples- two men and a man and woman. They don’t look at me as I walk through the space. Opposite of the seats and immediately when you enter the wood framed door is the bartender, cook and proprietor. A large man with a aged face and delicate facial hair. His olive skin shines under the headlamps in the small kitchen area; it’s quiet but steamy. He doesn’t look at me either.

I scan the area looking for a seat where I won’t burden anyone with my presence, to maintain privacy and civility in public. I see there are beer bottles all along the sofas, empties from the night before or a few moments or months ago. No one has sat there in weeks. I take a seat at a table next to the man and woman. They share an obligatory silence as I sit down and relax before ordering. They were talking between themselves, but since I came within earshot they decided to cut their conversation short. I notice a winding staircase in the back, lost in the disguise of plant leaves and lights. Further back I notice the door to the bathroom near the other couple.

Inside a place like this you can hear everyone’s words. This isn’t a place for strangers. Everyone knows each other, a place for locals to become regulars and find their normalcy in a situation. I’m not shy, I look them in the eye and explain that I don’t like people. “I’m actually from here and over the years I’ve watched things transform and change in radical, exciting ways, but it’s too much for me. I guess you can say I’m jaded.” They don’t tell me where they’re from, if they’re from anywhere. I really don’t care.

I get up and go to the bar. I haven’t seen a menu yet and all I want is a drink. All the furniture is green and there isn’t any music playing. Instead the sound of traffic creates an ambient thread of sound to let you know that everything is vibrating at a fixed frequency. I order a Maker’s Mark neat from the bartender and he tells me their out of Maker’s. Normally I would have left a claustrophobic place in lieu of a proper whiskey and anonymity, but the barkeep offers me a drink of whatever is on the shelves above the sofas.

Then the two men sitting down began to gather all the bottles, preparing to take them downstairs into the basement. All the bottles are green. They’re all empty. I notice a bottle of Absinthe and don’t care if it actually has any wormwood in it since all I want is a place to sit, sip and recollect my thoughts. The apt was too loud, the Avenue wouldn’t shut up and I needed an escape. I ask for the Absinthe and the bartender agrees to make me a lucsious drink of the green fairy with a twist of honey and lemon. I don’t care and agree while wondering just what is that going to cost me in the end.

I sit back down at my table and a menu has appeared on my table- Drink Specials. Why wasn’t this mentioned this before? As I sit and wait for my drink the man and woman line up at the counter cafeteria style. Are there no waiters? Did they get called over? Fearing that I am outside some kind of local custom I also line up and am greeted by a young woman, she is polite and obviously just works the register and the cook who took my order is lost in the machinery of the kitchen. The girl explains that the drink is part of a meal option and I can chose to whichever parts I would like.

I Just wanted a drink, but agree to have something light to eat. I’m handed a clip board with a sheet of paper that looks like an order form and several boxes have X’s on them. I chose some meat sides to go along with my drink which still hasn’t arrived and hand the board back to the girl. She goes over my order “Why don’t you want any greens?” “I just want a drink, I’m not really hungry. Most of the stuff you have here is dinner food and it’s not even three o’clock”

She gives me a funny look and I’ve just about had enough of this place when my drink arrives. I devour it whole. I don’t taste any Absinthe or honey or anything. It’s wet and that’s enough for now. Without any hesitation I get up and walk out the front door. I didn’t pay except with my time and now I’m on the trembling Avenue of cars going Uptown and the city at my feet.

I turn the corner and am on a side street of shops. Toys and second hand items; I consider going inside and looking for a minute but just cross to the other side of the street where it’s busier. There’s a large wholesale jewelery shop- I know I should go inside there. She asked me for earrings and I haven’t a clue about what to get, but keep walking down the block. Middle aged bohemians are discussing the best ways to shame a corrupt banker- Strip him of his clothes in public, don’t hit them just let their shame be on display! A kitten plays in the gutter and I keep walking down the street.