In Hotel Rooms

I spend a lot of time on the road, I spend a lot of time in hotel rooms. I am always excited, and apprehensive, and relieved that moment the lock turns over.

There is something intrinsically Rock n’ Roll, something glamorous, living day to day like that. There is always an ice bucket, even when you can’t steal the closet hangers, even when it’s just plastic, there is something sophisticated about an ice bucket.

Every hotel room is cinematic. Every room is a false someplace, set up and broken down again over and over again, just like a Hollywood set. These places are sexy, and lonely, and strange, like dreams, filed in memory alongside with airport terminals and sleeping hospitals.