I spent my toddler years living in a strip club. During the 1970’s oil boom, The Red Dog was the rowdiest and most popular topless bar in Oklahoma City. Every miscreant, outcast and lost soul found themselves inside the Dog at some point back then. For a five year stretch it was the only home and family my mom and I had. She was a teenaged runaway, dope-addicted single mother, stripping with a fake I.D., and I grew up amidst the drug deals, stabbings, backroom blowjobs and never-ending party. Now some 30 years later, I’m light years away, and I’ve got my own family, making my own living as a songwriter in Nashville. I want to go back and talk to some of these people I thought of as uncles and aunts, cousins and dads, and see who made it out and who never did. At least get someone to corroborate my mom’s insane stories.