At night this dank strip-mall billiard hall is transformed into a teenage nightclub for the colored-hair, my-mom-signed-my-piercing-consent-form young'uns. Featuring various local and touring punk and ska bands (many in their teenage years as well) on the small corner stage of Q's musty, concrete-floored space, here the kids have carte blanche to pogo, slam or mosh till the cows come home. The p-rock kids sport the uniforms of their generation (and a few before them) -- liberty spikes and mohawks, shin-length shorts, chain wallets, and T-shirts with slogans from the classic "Punks Not Dead" to the updated "Got Punk?" The well-worn wooden bleachers facing the stage only add to the sophomoric atmosphere; this is their playground -- if you're old enough to drink beer, you probably won't fit into this microcosm of rushing energy and hormones. As Bryan Adams put it, "The kids wanna rock." At Club Q they do just that.