At first it was a timely but unpredictable destination. You would go there on Friday or Saturday nights, or sometimes both, without any real plan, any fixed trajectory. It allowed us to temporarily escape from the quiet suburbs where we lived. A week of dull drudgery was followed by a lively weekend, in the enchantment of a club. And a real one at that. Not a ballroom or a dance hall. Not some suburban cabaret. But a club—both literally and figuratively—where you could wander about or settle into a spot and stay for hours under the magic of artificial lights, like on some soft drug for the senses.
2 March 2016