Cold night out: the funeral home reopens… as a nightclub

Former temple of the last goodbye, “La Pause Définitive” promises nights you won’t forget — even if you never quite recover.
Cocktails with ominous names, a funeral-chic dress code, and neighbors already watching their patience go up in smoke.

Last night, beneath the bluish sign flashing “Open till the very end of the night,” a snaking line of heels and sneakers waited to glide across the hall’s icy marble. Inside, the menu lines up some very chilled specialties: Formaldehyde Fizz, Last Breath Spritz, and a Morgue-rita served with sea salt from tears (promise: sourced from customers only). On the walls, sensible reminders: “Do not lie down,” “No reservations in perpetuity,” “Emergency exit: follow the light — not that one.”

“Here, we chill out cold; the next day you feel alive by contrast,” snickers Victor L., manager and former master of ceremonies, adjusting his anthracite tie. Then, with a clinical smile: “At least our neighbors are reassured: nobody makes noise on the way out.” In the haze of “End of Day”-scented candles, dancers snap selfies beneath the disco ball — a former viewing-room fixture, recycled for atmosphere.

The neighboring shopkeepers, for their part, look on with hollow eyes. “I signed up for a quiet street, not a procession that’s like a carnival of regrets,” sighs Mireille D., a florist, forced to open earlier to restock her wreath aisle. Between sighs, she admits the mornings after are blooming: “We’ve never sold so many ‘Sorry about last night’ bouquets.”

Experts are alarmed at a “thanato-chic” trend sweeping the city: after-work mixers in the columbarium, “French toast, gone for good” brunches, and express existential coaching in the refrigerated cloakroom. Management, for its part, remains frosty and confident: next step, a loyalty card with points you can accumulate — for those who come back. Those who don’t? We’ll think of them.