Why this is happening
Every five to eight years, I meet another Lance.
It happens by accident. A friend's party, a work call, a guy at the next table. Somebody says "Lance," we both look up, and we stare at each other like we've seen a ghost. "No way." "Yeah." We shake hands, laugh, and then we don't see another Lance for half a decade.
That's a bad system. At that rate a Lance meets maybe ten other Lances in a whole lifetime, and every one of those meetings lasts about four minutes.
So I'm breaking the chain. One night, one bar on the Lower East Side, and every Lance in New York who wants to come. Bring your stories. Bring your worst barista spelling. You won't have to explain any of it.
— Lance, organizer