This Feels Like A Riot Looks

Ft. Lauderdale, 1997: Sun-burned tourists buy cheap T-shirts, white-legged geriatrics clog the highways, frat boys prowl the A1A strip, and Mark Reynolds is trying to understand how everything turned into quicksand. Mark fronts a band that seems to get bigger with each successive show, he writes a column in an independent weekly, and spends his days as part of the Scene, where beer and good...