One night in 1981, I accompanied my pal Lee Thompson, the sax player for the band Madness, to Bond’s International Casino in Times Square. A swanky supper club in the 1930s, then a department store, in the 1970s Bonds was reborn as a punk club with a dance floor rumored to be the biggest in town. It was a crazy scene – water fountains from Liberace’s old TV show burbled on the dance floor, silver balloons shaped like people whipped around on the ceiling looking like tortured aliens, and bare chested bartenders in gold lame shorts worked the bar. I remember the ladies’ room was filled with young women rifling through suitcases looking for one of the many different outfits they had brought to change into during the evening, or feverishly pressed against the mirror doing their make-up.  Your life is like that in your early twenties–trying on different looks, different jobs, different loves, different selves–like those girls pulling on a new dress, spike heels and jungle red lipstick, rushing out to the dance floor when they heard their favorite song.