THIS WAS about 2005. Or maybe a few years before that. Or maybe a few years after that. Hell, nobody remembers. They were drinking, whenever it was. And a lot’s happened since. They gathered every Tuesday at Tutto Mondo Lounge, a place where cigars and cigarettes flared all night and the scent of smoke lingered for days. They were in their 20s, save for one or two who’d just tipped 30, all dripping with talent. On Tuesdays, they drank and dreamed.