We've been working nights this week down at the big project in midtown Atlanta.
It's grueling, meticulous work.
The attention to detail on each installed piece of film turns your mind to mush after just a few hours.
Which is why I went to The Clermont Lounge late last night.
To re-hydrate my shriveling brain in a can of Icehouse.

(Never, ever drink anything that isn't delivered in a sealed container when you're at The Clermont.)

And I'm glad I went because just as I was saying hi to "D" the doorman, and old black man walked past me, stopped and pointed, and said, "Snake!  Snake Plissken!"  and then walked off.

Well done, sir.

Well done.

Patch is on the wrong eye, dude.