A chorus of booming laughs fills the smoky room as you shrink into your seat, bashful. When you’d first moved here you thought that city life would be going out every night, parties, and blacking out at three AM. Instead, you’re playing poker in a smoky, dim room, cigars glowing like dying embers, scotch glasses precariously balanced on armchair ledges and coffee table edges, their ice desperately trying to stay intact in the steamy shoebox apartment. But you were only 18, they were all 24, 25 and 26. What did you know about love and life?