We got home from Atlanta last night. The whole visit was a little surreal. I had to keep reminding myself that we weren't going home, that we had no apartment anymore. We've been gone long enough now that part of me feels like we never even lived there. Sort of like how I have no clear memories of Kindergarten, just a few images and emotions that smell like glue and chalkdust.

Friday night we went to Dave and Buster's. For those of you that aren't familiar with D&B's, it's a restaurant/bar/arcade that's roughly the size of a Super Wal-Mart. It smells like onion rings and cigarettes and sounds like Lethal Weapon and Die Hard playing in the center ring of a circus. You have to be 21 to get in the door. I'm assuming because of the age restrictions (and liquor license), it's a place designed for adults to hang out. Which, of course (although I'm not sure why I'm saying "of course"), means that most the women are all oddly over-dressed. I spent a portion of the evening standing beside a woman in full makeup and one of those tank tops that looks like one strap has been cut off shooting zombies with a blue, plastic gun.

The visit was good though. And I'm glad we went. Even though it was thoroughly depressing driving by "The Arbors at Sandy Springs," which used to be "The Greystone Apartments."

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