My first punk show was in somebody's house. I think it was somebody's house, anyway. The Loft was a DIY venue in a vaguely terrifying West Baltimore neighborhood, and my first time there felt like a movie. It was a rowhouse with graffiti all over the walls, virtually no lights anywhere, and a tiny stage that was maybe a foot off the ground. Someone kept that place running for years. I was in ninth grade, and I was there to see a band whose bassist went to my high school. I remember nothing about the music, but I remember everything about my first stagedive. That was an eye-opening night.