In the nineties, I was very into the downtown band scene in New York City.

It was a wild time, and I spent my nights at shows, lusting after this punk girl who fronted one of the more popular bands.

Punk Girl looked like she had just walked off the pages of a coloring book with her dyed red hair, porcelain skin, and doughy doll face. She was covered in stick-n-poke tattoos, and had a rotating wardrobe of leather catsuits she pranced around in onstage. Punk Girl was mouthy, mean, and sexy. We had friends in common, and all hung out in the same circle, but Punk Girl and I had never shared more than a few beers and drunken flirtations.

One night, post-show, Punk Girl and I were hanging out at the bar while the rest of our friends sat at some tables. I ordered us two shots of whiskey as she stubbed out her... Read More