240 Lounge and Cafe

That stretch of Lawrence Avenue is always loud with traffic, and you can hear the bass rattling the glass before you even hit the door. You pay your cover to a guy who is scrolling his phone and step straight onto sticky tile floors. It isn't fancy. 240 Lounge and Cafe is basically a narrow Chicago neighborhood bar with a low drop ceiling and a cramped stage shoved into the corner by the front window.

The sound setup is rough around the edges. Vocals get swallowed whole by the guitar amps, and the mix guy looks like he is guessing half the time. People crowd around the pool table in the back when it gets too packed up front, or they stand shoulder to shoulder nursing cheap tallboys because there aren't enough barstools to go around. It's hot, sweaty, and smells heavily of old bleach and spilled whiskey.

By midnight, the air conditioning packs it in and everyone is dripping sweat onto their jackets. You walk out into the cold Albany Park air with your ears ringing and your boots covered in god knows what. The neon sign outside flickers out halfway through load out.