Look for a derelict building with the word “disco” painted on the wall. Inside: a massive DJ booth and a dance floor that’s shaped like a skating rink (we assume you’re thinking what we’re thinking).
The crowd is... um... eclectic. Picture a sea of leather pants, bow ties, handlebar mustaches and cougars. In sequins. As if they’d wear anything else.
Come early. Or bring cash. The cover charge goes up after 11pm. And doorman Freddie Mercury won’t take Visa.
If Saturday Night Fever were remade with techno. It would be the scene here. Just replace the Bee Gees with thumping bass and Travolta with some guy covered in tattoos who isn’t Travolta.
It’s loud. Damn loud. The girls from Beauty Bar (they run the joint) have installed enough speakers to launch a U2 world tour (or serenade your version of the cat daddy).
Sit in the nosebleed section. The elevated banquettes will provide some cover from the action on the floor. And those sequined cougars.
Roller-skating dance parties. They’re coming. But of course they are.