The Cellar was never advertised and never needed to be. For seven years it held whatever was brought to it, and what was brought to it was consistently more than the building had been designed to accept. The floor gave what the floor could give and then, in October, it stopped giving.
The last night was not billed as a last night. There was no farewell, no guest list, no acknowledgement from the booth that anything was ending. Those who were there describe an ordinary Thursday that ran long and ended quietly, and it is only in retrospect that the quiet reads as ceremony.
The room was cleared in the morning. The rig was sold in pieces to people who had danced in front of it. Nothing was salvaged from the floor itself, which had earned the right to be left where it was. †