Atlanta, GA

Two pm on a Thursday and I'm jogging through the tree-lined trails of Piedmont Park, breeze at my back. The park is green and hilly and teeming with bike-riders, stroller-pushers, frisbee-throwers... the energy is tangible and springs my gait. I'm running like the wind, like Michael Johnson, I am the fastest man in this park right now. In this entire city... 

I clean up, grab a smoothie (peach), take a walk down Juniper, and six o'clock comes quick. Josh picks me up after work, we go north to Buckhead and have a few beverages in a bar overflowing with professional types in skirts and ties (the ties could have easily been removed, but it's that kind of place). It's happy hour and Atlantans are a thirsty bunch. Long week, says Josh. Good week, I add. And we have a good chat over guac.

Robby and Brian join the fold and give us second wind. We make our way to a pub near Virginia-Highland, grab a booth, order pitchers. Female strangers surround, introductions occur. We are unemployed vagabonds from San Diego. We are real estate entrepreneurs from Montana. Cowboys from Arizona, pimps from Oakland, something about an emerging maple syrup conglomerate. We are drunk. 

Atkins Park, Atlanta, GA - April 17, 2008

I run into folks from UVA, UGA, Emory. We play the name game and agree it's a small world after all. Robby takes over the jukebox (I've got soul but I'm not a soldier) and it feels like Friday night... except it's not. Soon, the bar is empties, the pizza joints close, and we crowd into Josh's living room for a little Sportscenter and sleep. 

Friday noon, brunch behind us, and the park looks enticing. We need a football to toss around. Robby, Brian and I cram into the Equinox and go looking. Nothing on 10th, nothing on Monroe. Traffic's a bear. My know-it-all navigation lands us in rough part of town. This is a goose chase. I get on the I-75. 

The interstate splits, straight to Atlanta, right to Athens. I click over.