Shopping for underwear is like browsing the gay porn section in a seedy back-alley sex shop. The guy at the register looks at you as you slink in, and you wonder, “Does he know why I'm here?” The security guard eyes you suspiciously. You try to act casual, moseying along, perusing the wears, thumbing through t-shirts, until you arrive at the men's underwear section as if by accident.

The other day my brother Marko and I were walking back to my place from the liquor store and decided to pop into DV8 for a quick visit. Back when we'd just moved to Portland we used to hit the place pretty frequently, but it'd been quite a while since we'd hung out there together. We were both broke, so we agreed to limit our stay to just a couple of rounds.