the return of a legendary nightclub

I’m not quite sure what the opposite of PTSD is called, but I experienced it the other day, flashbacks and everything, when I walked down a set of stairs into a basement building site. All of a sudden I could feel the soft carpet beneath the wafer-thin soles of the blue, black and red suede Gucci loafers I used to wear. I could hear the thumping bass line and the “la da dee, la da da” of “Gypsy Woman”, and for the first time in more years than I can recall, my palate craved the…