Moved.

The details of the last few days have already been recounted by former coworkers of mine, but they are behind us now, and were less a cause than a symptom that began at the start of the "Save CBGB" movement of last year. I don't know how many times I've been approached by total strangers, and been forced into a conversation about how it's a "crime" to shut down the birthplace of punk, but not once did any of those conversations turn to the fact that a whole lot of good people were about to lose their jobs. While brought about by well-meaning outsiders, the "Save CBGB" movement never made mention of the men and women tirelessly performing their thankless jobs of serving you drinks, selling you t-shirts at 1AM, making you sound as good as possible, and keeping you safe while in our care. We hung in there as best we could, for each other, because that's what a family does, and a family is what we are. So when we were turned away for the very last time, an angrier, more heart-broken mob I have never seen. But we moved across the street to draw it out a little longer, pushing the inevitable end of an important era in all our lives back just a few more hours. Some of us said what we had to say, but we all moved on peacefully, and that fact alone shows a level of maturity and class that our former masters will never understand, and that makes me so very proud.