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the next stop on my atlan-tinery was the birthplace of the shaken baby jesus.  with a cold snap in the air and rumours of impending snowpocolypse, we headed up to the old fourth ward‘s sound table for a meet and greet with disparate groups of friends.  it’s always unnerving when melding different factions, but the return can sometime supersede the risk, as it did that night.  with a diverse selection of tasty cocktails, including a delectable gemini handshake that packed tropical notes with a habanero kick, we chatted away like old chums over a brigade of small plates, the most notable being the hamachi crudo and the sunchoke puree (the plate was licked clean, i will leave it at that).  a few days after, all of the southeast went to hell, or some siberian version of it, and atlanta was frozen solid for a good week.  as youtubers ice skated down peachtree and bmw’s set ablaze,  i stayed off the streets and nestled all snug in my bed while visions of cocktails-past danced in my head.

sit down. and listen.