Mayor of Ponce digs out his soul
With some help from the Soulphonics and Ruby Velle
Theres a foggy glow over this gloomy corner of downtown Atlanta. The Georgia Dome is just over the hill, and Im on the bad end of a dead end street. George Harrison was right, its been a long, cold, lonely winter. Only he seemed more optimistic. But this chill and these bad vibes have to break soon; Im almost out of Ayn Rand books to burn.
My hearts been on ice and these ambitions bundled up. Its been a mean season and this old soul's getting restless. My apologies for the tired wordplay, but that just about sums up this cliché of a winter. The tulips, the wayfarers, the sundresses — theyre right around the corner. But they seem to be getting further out of reach.
Its a Saturday night, and weve found ourselves in one of Atlantas best kept secrets. The location is in the name of the place, and Ive been here a number of times, but my haphazard internal GPS still has trouble finding it. Its Elliot Street Pub and its nestled in a creepy corner of Castleberry Hill. Its a tiny bar that takes pride in its obscurity, a kind of place with cups, a keg and a chalkboard by the door that trusts the regulars with the honor system.
Were all here to see Atlanta throwback darlings the Soulphonics and Ruby Velle. Were cramped in this pint-sized bar shoulder-to-shoulder — more like a walk-in closet with a liquor permit. But the warmth is comforting, its like were in this together.