You pass them every day. Local history is built on them. In honor of our licentious past, and in a sincere effort to separate the women from the girls, one writer gets $500 from 7x7—and permission from his wife—to embark on 
a highly subjective tour of local strip clubs.

I’ll level with you: I’m not much of a strip club guy. I went to one for my bachelor party, but I’m hardly a regular. That said, I dig the idea of tawdry San Francisco, blinking lights, hired flesh, and slick-talking doormen. Luckily, there’s no shortage of grit on any after-dark walk down Broadway. The strip just east of Columbus is also the last vestige of our Barbary Coast past.