When I was 21, I had an apartment a half-block and one possible mugging away from Greenville Avenue. Social calendars wrapped around live music and, on shitty show nights like Mondays, drink specials. There was maybe—and I stress maybe—one night a week our social activities team, Quick Like Bunny (I'm so not lying, and I have the shirt to prove it), was not out spending hard-earned cash at the bar and merch booths. Back then, I could drink today's me under the table, smoke a pack and do it all again the next day. I learned that vodka doesn't leave trace stench like gin and earplugs are God's... More >>>