You look so sad now. The deflated Santa above your doors. The marquee promoting beer and boobs, lonely themed karaoke nights, and cover bands that are covering bands no one listens to. Your bouncer in all black stands in front of the door, protecting its entry not from the rush of eager show goers but from the zombie like creatures pestering for free doughnuts and the middle aged men who still think it's an adult theater.
I remember the days as a young lad. I would sit in front of you, drinking a 40 from inside of my jansport, waiting for the weekly Defiance or Escaped show. Buy a button at another state of mind, maybe a doughnut from the place that was once a hole in the wall with no line. I'd enter and "sex and Violence" would blare over the cheap PA system. My jump boots bought stuck to the floor from all the sweat and snuck in beer.
I'm older now. I've watched you change. I've watched the Portland music scene change. We can't bring back the dozens of venues we've lost, unsung or treasured. But there you are. The old sign back up. Marquee waiting for a good band. Bouncer wondering when he'll be checking backpacks instead of checking his watch. Another State of Mind wondering when shows at the Paris will bring back the punk kids on Friday nights. You can do better.