I'm Not Locked in Here with You, You're Locked in Here with Me

Whatever with you Johnny-come-latelies and your super-seekrit clubs. Ten years ago I found myself at an after-hours place on Ridge and Delancey. It was a garage, as I recall. You had to knock to get in. Nick Zedd was bartending. War Is Menstrual Envy was being projected on the wall. The crowd was a mix of models and "back in the day" LES types. I only had five bucks so I sipped the same Heineken for 2 hours and mulled over whether I really wanted to be a part of this scene, so ultrahip, so everything I'd hoped my life would be like once I got here. Then I made some perceived faux pas in the presence of the cool kids who'd vouchsafed my entry* and it was decided for me. Now I live in Queens!

*The evening, by the way, began in a tony apartment on Park Avenue. For those of you keeping count of my bourgeois points. It's a fact that everyone who lives and hangs out on the LES is rich. This includes Krucoff. How do you think he can afford to work at a nonprofit?