It’s late. Matt, Brett, Hair, Swan, and I are outside of Jetset bar. Brent and Hair are smoking. Hair looks bored. Matt wants to leave.
I leave the group to go to the restroom. When I come back outside I see Alig out of the corner of my eye.
Alig is your run-of-the-mill1 skeezy club rat, sort of like the club kids in Party Monster, except this is Minneapolis so half the time Alig is in track shoes and ill fitting shorts.
Reputation-wise, Alig is the equivalent of WMD or Pig Pen from the Peanuts: the tragic hot mess of the city who will soil anyone he talks to like broken septic tank. Behold:
