Atlanta's a beautiful city. I can't put my finger on exactly what I like about it, I just do.
It's strange. I usually hate cities that get really hot in the summer, and they don't call this place "Hot-lanta" for nothing. Okay, so it's actually got more to do with the nightlife and the attitude or some such crap, but you get my point.
Anyway, as we pull into the city in the middle of the winter, I feel mixed emotions. There's a strange kind of inner turmoil in my heart and in my brain, something I can't quite put my finger on, itching to be resolved.
On one hand, I'm glad to be back in Atlanta. I haven't been here since the summer of 1998, back during one of my stints as a co-op student. I had flown down (standby, no less. You'd be amazed how cheap you can fly standby out of the major airports in the country. You may not be able to leave exactly when you want, and oftimes you end up coming back a little late, but you really can save hundreds of dollars. You should all try it sometime!) to Atlanta with a friend of mine (and fellow co-op student).
He was originally from a suburb of Atlanta, and we spent the entire weekend taking in the sights, sounds, and... well, stuff, in the city. Overall, it kicked ass.
