I don't remember the first time I went to the Lancer Lounge -- it was more than a decade ago -- but I do remember the last time I was there. It was a typical Friday night at the venerable watering hole, where the drinks are as stiff as a starched shirt. Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" was blasting on the jukebox, and the cheap whiskey -- a single that's always a double here -- went down easy. And after a few, the liquid courage had done its job, convincing me to belt out the lyrics...and dance, slow, with a perfect stranger, whose name I'll never know. Nothing out of the ordinary. No one cared.