On September 21, 1996, I turned nineteen years old. The night was hot and muggy. The streets of Little Haiti still glowed from the light afternoon rain, and Churchill's Pub was in full swing, packed with all kinds of people armed with alcoholic drinks. In those days, one could hang out in Churchill's parking lot, acting out some sort of semi-defiance to the world. Bands would play, but between the crackheads and the cops making their usual rounds through the neighborhood, the rest of the world wouldn't... More >>>