On weekend nights, the young and libidinous scan the floor of Shooters like so many starving raptors. They often can't even wait till they get inside -- witness this personal coming-of-age tale: We're sitting in a car in the Flats, waiting for a drawbridge to lower, when a young blonde bangs on the window. She's not being chased by an ax-wielding psycho; she wants to know if we'd please, please
join her and her friends at Shooters. Guys, the only time it gets easier than this is when you're paying for it.