I stared across the room. Before The Brewery was The Brewery, it was LA’s; a dark, dingy nightclub with black walls and a sticky black floor.
It got closed down in the end, because it was notorious for drugs, fights and never IDing anyone – even if they were obviously about ten. The only way the owners could keep the place was by turning it into a private members’ club with no dancefloor and normal pub hours, hence it becoming The Old Brewery. All ages events were permitted. Something me and my friends jumped on as aspiring promoters.
It used to freak me out when it first re-opened, because I’d just keep thinking about where everything used to be, and how different it was. The only thing that remained completely unchanged was the smoking area outside.
I used to go to LA’s every Tuesday, and each week, towards the end of the night, I’d be stood there, looking in on the dancefloor, with my mate Anna, who I haven’t spoken to in years now – and each week I’d be thinking about how I couldn’t believe it was already a week ago that I’d been stood in the exact same place, thinking the exact same thing.
I used to remember that every time I went in the Brewery; and I’m sure that even now, all these years later, the ghosts of us are still there, hanging in the air; cigarettes trailing from our fingers, very young, and completely consumed by everything that seemed so important at the time.