When the club was open you could usually feel the tarmac beneath your feet vibrating from the beat of the music like standing over a subway station, but not the night Aaron and Cara arrived for their anniversary celebrations. Tonight, as they descended those hard steps into the darkness below the city, they encountered something close to silence.
They exchanged looks, wondering if it was closed tonight, or whether they were late, or early, but there were people around, exiting to catch their breath or smoke a cigarette or fall drunkenly into the back of a taxi. People brushed passed them up the steps, glazed with the tell-tale film of glistening sweat that betrayed vigorous dancing within. But there was no music to be heard or felt.
Now underground and inside the building, Cara approached the ticket clerk and paid. She handed over her money and in return was given her change, two tickets, and two sets of what looked like industrial ear defenders: big, expensive, yellow headphones.
They made their way towards the main room, the noise within increasingly only slightly: the sound was just enough to signify that people were present and moving, but still no music.