I left my apartment around 730 to make the drive over to the East side. I parked and walked up Sunset and stopped at the back entrance to talk to security. They told me it was impossible, that there was no chance, that they couldn't even get their girlfriends in. I waited in line anyway. It looked like this from the "need tickets" side...
We watched as the hundreds - yes, barely hundreds filed in for about an hour and a half, two at a time. There were moments like the one where Zack de la Rocha walked by and I worried I was going to spend the night standing in line and not get in and miss his jumping up onto the stage for an encore and on my deathbed think I should have done more...whatever it took to make it in. But it never came to that. Once everyone was inside, they counted all who were left and let us through. When I stepped up to the front of the line, there was a girl talking to security and they weren't letting her in. In fact, they were escorting her out and she was saying something about not having any money and needing to get inside to get it, promising that she would come right back out but they were still taking her away. When she crossed me, I grabbed her arm and took her inside, paying her 20 and my 20. We were walking through the door and there was smoke and she was thanking me and Thom Yorke was singing over my shoulder and Flea was jumping around the stage when she broke down crying. We stood there. Then she said exactly and unraveling, it's been the worst day. Then she fell into me. I was holding her in the middle of that club and for a moment, I forgot who or where I was. Then I said something exactly like, baby girl it's okay...look around we're inside...what in the world could be wrong? She smiled. Thom Yorke was playing a room in Los Angeles. A fucking room. We were there.
