Mission Impossible?: Sex on the Move

By Siouxsie Q Tuesday, Sep 30, 2014

I remember many a night I stumbled down the stairs of 2519 Mission St., the home of Mission Control, my knees wobbly from dancing, my panties bunched in my pocket. Mission Street was shockingly desolate at 3 a.m. — the freezing wind was always a harsh contrast to the sweaty, womb-like labyrinth of debauchery I had just left. Mission Control seemed like an endless maze that led to all kinds of curiosities: clown wrestling matches, puppet séances, puppy piles of naked people, a paddock full of zombie strippers. It truly seemed like a…