The bright lit roads fade to darkness
As we turn onto the Point, the place
Where all the dirty people come,
All the people needing to escape
Into the magic doors, the club
That opens up a world of technicolour sound.
The ground vibrates and stars shine down
As we sip at Irish coffees on the roof,
Talking shit to strangers as they drift
From roof bar to the dancefloor and
Then to a nook where people smoke,
Slowing down their racing hearts.
I often think of smoky nights spent in those rooms,
Of being young and caring less
In 330’s on Point Road.
330’s was a famous club in Durban for many, many years. It has closed down now but I was lucky enough to visit a few times while I lived there.
I don’t know why I thought of that place tonight; it’s certainly not somewhere I would feel comfortable now. And yet, I feel a flutter of excitement every time I think of that place.
I spent hours dancing and chatting to strangers and smoking on the rooftop bar, and it represented everything that is great about being young. It felt dirty and raw and I felt like we were rebels just being there in that jazzed up warehouse.
Those were special days and I miss that abandon that I used to adopt. Just being on Point Road would feel too dangerous for me now. Oh how we change when we grow up.