On my 21st birthday, my passenger a 300 pound studded dog collar wearing fellow named "Clutch," I rode my motorcycle into the Kingfish Pub. By "into" I mean we rode through the bar and came to a stop next to the shuffleboard. The bartenders were angry...not about the stunt, but about the fact they had been serving me for two years already. Their irritation surprised me. I thought I was grown. I'd graduated from drinking Coors light to Guinness and had started having something called a "latte" with my morning croissant. It was 1982. I was working on shedding my juvenile ...
