Ode to the Dark Room. R.I.P.

We heard today that one of the first drinking/dancing establishments to pop up on the now overcrowded block of Ludlow Street between Houston and Orchard, the Dark Room, is closing in April and will become a restaurant with a raw bar. (We really hope they give the scuzzy basement bar a good cleaning before they start shucking oysters in it.) In memoriam to this after-hours go-to (and because it's the Friday after Thanksgiving break and we're still not completely back in work mode), we wrote this ode to the Dark Room. RIP old friend. (Ed note: This poem includes memories from our early/mid 20s -- don't worry, we know MGMT isn't a hot new band.)

It's a Monday night and you need a drink.
Where to go? We don't even think.
The Dark Room of course! It's open late.
Work on Tuesday will have to wait.
We walk down stairs below the street.
So many cute guys we want to meet!
DJ Mike Nouveau is there playing MGMT,
That girl on the banquette? Shit, it's me.
Our favorite bartender Jeff is serving drinks,
He's in Caveman now. They'll be big, we thinks.

The bathroom is gross but we have to go.
Whoops, there's someone in there doing blow.
Back out on the dance floor we're working up a sweat,
Oh Dark Room, we'll miss you. So glad that we met.

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