Articles

After the first night I met my ATF, we exchanged social media before I sent her home that first night we met. Eventually we graduated to phone numbers. We could DM/text/talk for hours about all kinds of things. I saw her in Follies then Vivide when it was a trash black club. We hung OTC every couple of weeks for…

I get, from personal experience, that we ought to take what dancers post online with a boulder of salt. When you patronize a dancer and see what they post or there peers post on social media it comes immediately apparently that its all a ruse because you know how they actually act in the club, and if they actually make…

Its 2015. We're in The Last Days of Follies, which isn’t a Netflix special about the legendary ATL venue for men of culture and women who generally uh, are uncultured. I was a night shifter in those days, I had friends trying to make it in the record business. We were trying to get the buzz up in every club…

The whole damn thing used to be a private affair. A gritty, seedy slice of American life, where the beer was cold, the lights were low, and the women—those beautiful, tragic, electric creatures—offered up their bodies for a few dirty bills and a dozen quick glares from the leering crowd. It was sacred, in a way. But somewhere between the…

"Señor Arturrrrrro!" I exclaimed as I hopped into the front seat of the cab. I was fucking high, in the intoxicated sense as we'd just smoked big fat gallo californiano. But figuratively too. That evening, I'd had amazing sex, followed by an elegant and satisfying dinner, and was excited about heading to a new bar with my wingman @ZBott and his…