It's just before midnight on an isolated stretch of Eastlake Avenue, and young masses are gaggled together around the featureless doorway of the Lo-Fi Performance Gallery. Chattering and smoking, they're a pocket of elan vital in this otherwise sorry, I-5-abutted neighborhood. Some of the women are dressed in sleek cocktail dresses and fishnets, some of the work force in vests, ties and porkpie hats. It's the second Saturday of the month and a
