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[The roadhouse across town, the kind with the velvet and the lights and the air of dusty sex appeal? Yeah, that's cleared out. There's a trash heap out front for the garbage men, and the whine of industrial tools inside. Velvet swags are in the trash can now and nobody's slinking around to music. The only sign out front is one that says 'closed for refurbishment', and an approximate opening time. 'Soon'. The job ads hit the paper the next issue. Bartenders, DJ and a piano player.]