For twenty years the Complex was a big gay oasis in the middle of a post-industrial landscape, where the fabulous congregated and the rainbow reigned. A bevy of beautiful drag queens called it home, and made it so, performing raucous live shows two or three nights a week under the ever-glimmering light of the disco ball. It's where Dieta Pepsi and her gaggle of pretties got their start, and, by golly, we'll eat our second-favorite wig if RuPaul herself wouldn't have been proud as a peacock to see those girls work. But just as every Whitney Houston song must come to an end, so did the two-decade dance party that was the Complex. Good night, sweet princess.
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