On the Demolition of The Middle East Nightclub

Earlier this month, I learned that a wrecking ball is aimed at my beloved Middle East. Of course, it’s all part of a sensible financial plan for that property. A six-story building will rise up from the rubble, and the income generated on the additional space will help pay the mortgage on the building, which will still contain a nightclub.

So I have no business complaining.

Still, it made me sad to think of the creaky wooden floors and the arched doorways replaced by modern decor and polished fixtures—a lifeless veneer over the real place we knew and loved.

It’s a cliché to mourn these things, but I find it can’t be helped. For along with the news comes a whisper that we will be next. Eventually, we will all be outmoded, unable to compete, knocked down, and replaced. In the meantime, we must say goodbye to the things we loved, that defined our youth. And our willful blindness to the passage of time is revealed for the comforting lie it is.

It doesn’t do to dwell on these thoughts. It’s a gorgeous day, and you’ve had a peek into my creepy closet. So get out there, you, and “gather ye rosebuds while ye may.”