Climbing up the stairs to Club Evolution, 2300 Champa Street, is a little creepy, as if the Ghosts of Debauchery Past are going to appear from thin air to haunt me. Over yonder, in the corner, is where my best friend Senzelle met her future husband, who sat there writing angsty poetry. Across the room, I did more than smooch with a hot guy with liberty spikes — when I was fifteen. Friends sat here for hours, homeless, drinking coffee and discussing quantum physics and the lighter side of Sylvia Plath. Those were the days. Did I... More >>>