Room Four is the room in which live all abandoned things. The raw wood of the door has been chipped and chewed by time and wildlife, the red paint more of a chalky memory of itself than an intentional aesthetic. Inside, the edges of the brushed metal walls are burned and oxidized and filmed by blankets of water spots creating a haziness to the air. This is Nicholas' room.


Nicholas stands six feet, four inches tall, lanky and slumping with the physique of a tired ostrich. He appears like a caricature of what a relatively normal Italian boy might grow to be if he lived his life in a carnival. His jet black hair falls shaggy and wild, wishing it were a mullet. His eyebrows cast extreme angles of suspicion over his thick mouth, down-turning in an impenetrable disgust. A white t-shirt is cut into a tank top and hung from the wire hanger of his thin body, over skin-tight black jeans shredded at the sharp knobs of his impossibly thin and spindly legs.

Our confessor, our priest, he remembers everything and tells nothing.

In the center of the gritty space reminiscent of a stereotypical high-end pot dealer's apartment, a futon is embedded in the floor and surrounded by coffee tables. A small cigar box with worn edges sits on one of the many dirty pillows flattened to the overlapping oriental rugs hiding blood stains Nicholas never bothered to clean. The smell of dusty potpourri, nag champa, clove, and spoiled zinc.

The furniture is wooden, stained dark and marred by pale dents and scratches, every mismatched piece the remains of several bombed churches of many different denominations. In the corner of the room, an imposing, stand-alone confessional booth stolen directly from St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. Other than that, everything else in the room is as low as Nicholas himself likes to be.

Room Four is our sanctuary, all of us sinners of varying proportions. Nick remembers everything, forgives everything, and helps us forgive ourselves. It's a process good for a clear head as much as a clear conscious, no matter your faith or lack thereof.

Use the form to confess to Nick or text message him directly using Google Hangouts. For more information on how to do that, see the Technical Help section of the Gray House Guide & FAQ.