As was mentioned in the opening of this article, it recently was understood to be the final goodbye of this band after 50 years whose left it's piece so profoundly upon American tradition. To understand a bit of the band’s association with the essence of America is to not look much farther than at the names of some of their popular songs including US Blues, Tennessee Jed, El Paso, Mexicali Blues, Truckin’, Mississippi Two Step and The Promised Land just to name a few. You could explore the lyrics of many of the hundreds of original Grateful Dead songs in addition to many old blues covers that the group incorporated into their repertoire over the years and hardly find any better story telling about the wild west, gun slinging episodes at saloons, biblical references, poetic imagery of travels, travails and a spirit of independence.

The stories that they tell through their lyrics are surely a part of what makes them so great. But without the eloquence of musical talent that each of its members so routinely and poignantly contribute to the overall sound is what makes the band arguably the greatest of all time. Jerry Garcia was a master of his craft and an in depth article on his life and history of the band can be read here. Without expanding into much detail, the story goes that as the son of artistic parents in California, he learned to play the guitar and joined forces early on with Mickey Hart, a drummer and Bob Weir, a guitarist in the early sixties where they began collaborating on a sound largely borrowed from the folksy, blues rock of the early twentieth century. From their early years, they began to grow, largely in part with the movement of experimentation and intellectual expression that surrounded the early sixties. Some of the band's comrades were writers such as Ken Kasey, Jack Kerouac, Ken Babs who would often host LSD parties in the Bay Area and the Grateful Dead, earlier known as the Warlocks would come out and play.

The band's trajectory simply expanded with a music scene that was gaining more popularity and organizational structure in conjunction with the institutionalizing of concert promoters and record production companies during the rife cultural expansion of the 1960’s.

Bill Graham, a major promoter became an important business partner with the band early on and soon helped bring their recognition to a nationally known scale through his concert bookings. But it surely couldn't have been without the relentless spirit of them playing the more than a hundred concerts a year for the large extent of their careers that positioned them as such a beloved force amongst millions of fans spanning the globe.

These many years later in 2016, they have continued the tradition of playing to a beat of cultural gentility in America that has hardly diminished due to their steady, timeless ingenuity and their determination to not fade away.

The ‘Grateful Dead’ 4.0 if you will, has taken on the slightly modified new name of the ‘Dead and Company’. It is a modest departure from their most previous incarnation where they played six sold out concerts as part of the Fare Thee Well concert series during the summer of 2015. During that series which as a special collaborative effort included the temporary inclusion of Trey Anastasio playing the lead guitar part of Jerry Garcia. Anastasio who many recognize as the main man behind the popular cult jam band Phish, shares a similar following to the Dead. The Fare Thee Well tour involved three concerts in Palo Alto, CA just outside of the band's hometown of San Francisco. They then traveled to Baltimore, MD in mid June to play the Meriwether Pavilion for a festival that also included a number of other bands paying tribute to the final fare well with as eight groups including Widespread Panic, Umphrey Magee, Government Mule and others contributing one song performances of several Grateful Dead originals.

The final send off was expected to be at Soldier Field in Chicago during 4th of July weekend. The expected attendance for each of the three nights in Chicago was around 100,000 people. Tickets were sold based upon an initial lottery system but it was soon after their release that resale’s were fetching astronomical prices, going for as much as ten thousand dollars each online. Pay Per View offered packages to watch live simulcasts of the final concerts for about $30 a piece. Watching parties were orchestrated throughout hundreds of towns across the nation. I personally ventured to one of my neighborhood bars on the final Sunday after work to watch the second half of their last concert. It was thought to be a momentous concert series as most everyone speculated that this would forever mark the end of them touring as a band.

After the final show, people were quick to pass along their thoughts about the overall energy and merit of the performances. From what I witnessed and heard others speak about, consensus was that Trey part on lead guitar had adequately measured up to the sweet, long soloing of Jerry's old playing style and vocal melodies.

An abundance of merchandise to commemorate the apparent end of a musical era was available online. People were talking about the importance of the band's legacy as something that finally after fifty years of spectacular achievement despite some unsavory hardships through the years, had come to an end.

But several weeks later to my surprise, while sitting in a local bar one evening after work with a few people, I saw an advertisement announcing what appeared to be yet another upcoming Grateful Dead concert to take place. Looking up at the TV screen, the ad displayed unmistakable, characteristic imagery of the band including the signature lightening bolt skeleton head. Additionally throughout the thirty second TV video promo was footage of the band recently on stage in front of large audiences. So my eyes captivatingly stayed tuned to see what pertinent details might be displayed. It was soon announced that a scheduled date was set for November 16th at Phillips Arena here in Atlanta. And just as shocking was the indication that playing along with the band would not be Trey Anastasio as had been the case in the recent 50 year anniversary shows but rather ‘Dead and Company’ was now featuring John Mayer as the group's new lead guitarist.

Despite not being a fanatical Mayer fan or anything, I still nearly jumped out of my seat in excitement for the upcoming event to look forward to just three weeks away. I jotted a mental reminder to inquire about tickets the next day and asked a few of my surrounding patrons at the bar whether or not they knew anything about this new tour. Being in the midst of some like-minded music savvy individuals, they signaled their awareness of the upcoming concert and shared in my enthusiasm of hoping to attend.

I soon enough pulled my phone from my pocket and logged onto the scheduling website for the restaurant where I worked and requested that night off, so that come concert time, their wouldn't be any conflicts preventing me from attending.

In due time, about two weeks later, the date finally did arrive and during the day of the concert, I'd been busy taking care of some work related matters with little time to as much as contemplate the event taking place later that night. But eventually after having wrapped up my afternoon's affairs on November 16, I stopped into a Panera Bread for a much-needed cup of coffee at around 5:30 pm. The weather was cool and overcast in Atlanta with a mid autumn dreariness that provoked a mood of yearning comfort. As I was garnishing my coffee with a dollop of cream, I overheard the store manager, a young man of about 30, speaking to his co-worker about the ongoing Dead and Company concert later that evening. When hearing this mentioned behind the counter, my ears perked up and I interrupted the conversation to ask if in fact the manager was planning on attending. He emphatically said that he was going with some friends who had travelled from out of town. So as a casual nod of self-assurance towards my expectation of going later that night, I hopped back in my car with freshly invigorated anticipation for the evening ahead.

At around 6pm, I found myself comfortably back at home. Deciding it to be too cold for a jog, I began to prepare myself for the concert. Soon enough a beer was cracked open, newspaper clenched in hand as I sat on the couch finding time to relax before it would be time to march out the door to the event in the next hour. I still had not purchased my ticket yet. A few nights before, I'd inquired on the venue's website about tickets and despite a large crowd expected, I opted to try my luck with buying one at the box office whenever I arrived.

Well now it was getting to be almost 7pm. The show was scheduled to start in thirty minutes and while feeling an urgent need to soon leave my house, I felt an ease against being too late as most bands typically don’t take the stage until about a half hour past scheduled start time. With two beers finished, I look around my room for what I thought was a last little bit of green herb that I'd hoped to bring along with me. It was soon getting past time that I should have left already to make my way to the arena, so I called for an Uber.

The driver was prompt to arrive within minutes. I continued scouring the table, living room drawers and kitchen compartments for the last little bit of smoke, which I eagerly hoped to bring. I eventually found it. But deciding instead of carrying what little amount that I had along with me, I took a quick inhale and walked out the door to meet my ride.

The driver was pleasant. He whisked me down the Midtown streets of Atlanta in route to the downtown Phillips basketball arena. As we got within a few hundred yards, I asked that he let me out so that I could walk the rest of the way and observe a little bit of the scene occurring outside of the venue before moving towards the box office to hopefully secure my ticket.

I passed crowds of people walking around, some selling merchandise and a large designated section in the parking lot where longhaired, flower print wearing 'dead heads' were in large congregation. I hurried past that pack of unsavory looking characters and ambled to the ticket line. There were three price levels available, $50, $75, and $100 tickets. I opted for the cheapest and headed towards what appeared the least lengthy line in which to enter. Nonetheless it was about a fifteen-minute wait to get inside. I passed the time by making friendly conversation with the people standing in front of me as we bantered about music, the weather and so forth. At around 8:00, I finally made my way in through the front entrance, passing the standard security check and eventually dismissing any concern of anxiety about any potentially snafus upon entering.

I alas was inside the concert. Now it would just be a matter of locating my seats and finding a refreshing beverage from one of the dozens of concession stands lining the hallways of the arena. The music had just started playing and I recognized the song, 'Feels Like a Stranger' one of their early 80s releases that has a nice warm introductory feel to it. Soon upon making my way near the upper level to where my seats were, I grabbed a beer and entered somewhere near my section.

As the second song began, I was comfortably standing high among the upper level, steeply overlooking the central part of the arena. The stage, from that vantage point, was merely a distant sight of lights and a few recognizable bodies of the band moving around in front of their microphones. As the first few minutes of 'Cold Rain and Snow' began streaming through the speaker system with high fidelity sound quality, I quickly made my presence known among those nearby as I danced rather expressively to the music. Moving my feet and my arms in the strobe light penetrating darkness, I matched gyrations nearly in lockstep with the beat of the music. These are songs that I've heard so many times over the years, that striking a natural rhythm that is in motion with the band is almost a natural feeling for me.

A man standing alone one row in front of me, who also seemed to share a fond appreciation of the music in the way that he boogied along to it, had just finished smoking an odorous helping of weed. A few minutes later I stepped down there beside him and casually asked if he would mind sharing. He obliged and before you know it, my senses were back onto that higher level of discernment. The sounds of guitar were sweet and mellow. The jams during that second song continued to ring out loud and synchronized almost as if Jerry Garcia were leading the guitar solos instead of the newly added John Mayer.

I immediately was impressed with the degree of accuracy and maneuverability that Mayer was able to invoke upon these songs. The band had been together for decades yet Mayer was showing a terrific command of their difficulty from having obviously spent a great amount of time practicing prior to this tour. Each new song that they led into during that first set was as good as the one before it.

As I stood high among the upper level seating area, I occasionally would reach my hand in my pocket to make note of the song on my cell phone so that I might remember the set list at the end of the night. In addition to simply making notes of the song's title, I also found myself typing general descriptions of how the band was playing them. For example on song three, 'Promised Land', the band intro'd into it full steam ahead with the lead singer and guitarist Bob Weir belting out it's lyrical story with an impressive high tempo'd rhythm along with the drums and keyboard players. The lyrics of ‘Promised Land’ talk about westward travel on a race across the country with the first verse beginning, 'Left my home in Norfolk, Viginia, California on my mind. Straddled that Greyhound, road him past Raleigh down across Caroline." Soon the lyrics mention Atlanta, Birmingham, New Orleans, Houston, and Albuquerque before reaching the Golden State of California. The song had the crowd rocking for the six or seven minutes that they played it.

Next was another classic intriguing tale of Grateful Dead Folk Americana as they played 'Loser', a song about a devastated cowboy, down to his last dollar but with just a bit of hope left that he might muster a victory in the next hand of cards that he has the chance to play. "Don’t you push me baby because I'm moaning low. I know a little something that you won't ever know."

Upon hearing the opening chords from the next song, I knew right away that it was the high energy, arguably one of top five Grateful Dead songs of all time, 'Bertha'. I was so chocked full of energy when this song started, I was moving in circles trying to keep my body with the rhythm of the music all the while needing to maintain my balance within the steep pavilion seating of the 300 level section where I stood. After a good eight or so minute jam of that song, I made a last little note in my phone and told my new acquaintance who had shared his stash with me, that I was going to go have a walk to see if I might discover some better seats down below.

As I had walked back into the hallways, waiting again to order another beer at the nearest concession stand, I heard the band begin the intro to 'Cassidy', a tributary song of friendship to a lady who had once toured along with the band in the sixties and seventies for whom they dedicated a song to. Having been a big fan of that song also, I felt that I was sorely missing out by wandering the hallways as ‘Cassidy’ was being played. Thus I rushed down the stairs to make an entrance towards one of the lower level sections. Observing the prevalence of security guards standing in front of each of the lower level sections I feared that I might be asked to show a ticket stub. Soon though, I found an unattended gate in which to walk into. Upon entering the lower level of the arena, there were passings of people moving up and out of their seats.

I looked up while navigating through the dark arena walkway and there leaned up against the wall, was a laid back, young, fit looking guy like myself who obviously seemed to be having a good time. I said what's up to him and he graciously reached his hand out to introduce himself. We seemed to have struck a similar chord upon meeting one another so he motioned for me to follow him down to his seats where a few of his buddies were located so that we could get a better view of the stage. He like myself was on some pretty euphoric smoke and had a beer in hand. We located his seats and posted there for the remainder of the first set.

Just as intermission began, the lights turned on and we chatted for a few minutes in a kind of mindless but well-intentioned dialogue about the concert thus far performed. Then abruptly the discussion changed as our reaction immediately focused on an attractive, minimally clad female who was walking up the stairs near where we were sitting, provoking a jaw dropping double take from both of us. He soon mentioned that he had a few joints he'd carried along with him. I mentioned that I brought a pipe but didn't have anything to put inside of it. In a seemingly generous mood, he handed me one of the tightly rolled doobies from his shirt pocket and I proceeded to unravel part of it to stuff in my pipe to smoke. It worked like a charm. I offered to give him what remained of his joint so that he could smoke it later, but he decline and insisted that I keep it. I generously accepted the offer.

The lights were still on inside the arena as the band was taking their twenty or so minute long set break. Still seated, I expressed some serious hunger for getting something to eat and another beer, a thought that my new friend entertained as well.

So like ravenous concert going, frat boys we headed back to the concession area for more fuel. I stood in line for a hamburger and insisted on buying him a beer. At this point, he had located his friends who had ambled over as we stood in the hallways amongst the crowd. Suddenly again, we all seemed to notice a very attractive young, blonde haired girl who wore an outfit that looked more appropriately suited for a Wyoming ski village rather than a concert in Atlanta as she had on tight pants, leather boots and a form fitting shawl made of fur. We momentarily stood in disbelief at that girl's beauty and made a couple of flattering comments. After ingesting another bite of my burger I said that I was going to go over there and talk to her as she was sipping her beer alone. So off I went a few yards away and humbly approached this girl before striking up some small conversation. It wasn't soon after though that she was standing alongside a guy who I presume might have been her boyfriend. Nonetheless she was extraordinarily friendly and I offered her my card in case she ever was interested in scouring my website or possibly meeting up for a drink.

I went back to enjoying a few more bites of my burger and soon it was imminent that the concert was about to resume. My newfound buddy Jack said he was making his way back to his seats with his friends. I told him I might see him back there in a few minutes but possibly I might deviate down to a lower section and see if I could possibly get down on the floor section. For those who don't know, 'the floor' is the designated area of the concert where it's normally standing room only. In my opinion it offers the most desirable viewing space as you can move around and dance without the obstruction of chairs behind or in front of you while standing in very close proximity to the stage.

Thus going on about my way, I stopped into the rest room. While sanding in line for a stall, next to me was a young guy who had a wristband on. I asked if that a wristband for the floor section, to which he confirmed that it was. In an empathetic tone, I asked whether he thought that maybe he’d be able to stub me down onto the lower level of general admission. He conveyed a sense of possibility, so I introduced myself. Then soon he and his agreeable buddy instructed that I follow them past the security checkpoints towards the lower level section where their wristbands permitted them access. Thus I strategically walked between the two of them as we made our way towards the lower level general admission standing room area.

Now granted sneaking into the front stage area of a concert is something that I've done many times before, but a little trepidation and awareness of your surroundings is still necessary to minimize your risk of getting caught by some stickler of a security officer. So I carefully walked as far down to the arena steps as possible without having to procure any ticket verification to the venue’s security staff. Upon observing one lady checking all incoming patrons of their stubs, I decided to hang back for a few minutes so that I might loose myself in the crowd before trying to advance any further. I waited, standing among many of those attendees situated in their seats very near the floor area of the basketball court where on many given nights the Atlanta Hawks play their NBA games. When the moment was right and no one appeared to be looking, I walked down the last remaining rows of bleacher seats on towards the floor where a thousand or so other people were standing.

By this time it was towards the end of the first song of the second set. One of the more popular songs, St. Stephen was blaring in full fashion but I was only partially able to enjoy it as my objectives were focused more so on discovering that desired viewing area near the stage. Eventually as I'd positioned myself amongst the standing room only crowd, I felt a sense of ease. I proceeded to shuffle past more people to get nearer to the front. At last I came upon an opening where I could comfortably stand and dance without causing an impediment to those whom surrounded me and had rightfully purchased those high cost standing room tickets.

The band continued playing the next few songs of the second set. It was great. They sounded terrific and I had a much better viewing area compared to where I had originally began the evening. 'Uncle John's Band' was the second song of the set. Riled with excitement of a fully enjoyable night thus far, I continued dancing, relishing the camaraderie of other happy, like minded people at the enjoyment of all that was going on around us. The band continued to play. They grooved on a succession of other well known yet less popular songs from their catalogue of original tunes. All the while their new young addition at guitar, John Mayer, mesmerized audience members at his sheer ability to fill in the place where the once untouchable Jerry Garcia used to flourish deep, melodic sounds upon the ears of passionate Dead fans.

Within a few more minutes, I edged my way further towards the stage before coming upon a steel barricade which separated those whom I had been standing amongst from a more privileged ticket level that granted access to within about the first fifty feet of the stage. I again took a comfortable position snug in between a row of tolerant, deeply attentive concert listeners on each side of me while standing near the barricade to spectate for the remainder of the concert. In front of me there was an attractive dark haired girl. I tried to remain respectful of her space but at the same time showed some interest in the fact that she moved elegantly with a detectable beauty to the sounds of the music that were emanating from the stage.

Eventually, I got around to introducing myself above the loud music before getting so much as a reciprocal handshake and a little dance with her at the same time. After a long drums solo in the late part of the second set, the band made their way back onto the stage to perform the last several songs before the encore. A 'Franklin's Tower' got the crowds attention with those well recognized lyrics, 'roll away the dew. You’d better roll away the dew.' Then came the songs, 'I Need a Miracle' and lastly 'Not Fade Away' before the band exited the stage to take their last final set break before being requisitioned back on stage for a final encore.

Between the second set and encore, I managed to make some quality conversation with the attractive young dark haired girly beside me whose name was Michelle and lived in Athens. I was pleased when she honored the request to give me her telephone number and we talked for a brief minute or two about her travels here to Atlanta for the concert which involved her group of friends staying at a five star hotel in the Buckhead area of town. The band soon enough made their way back up onto the stage for their final performance of the night. It was 'Brokedown Palace' an emotioal, slow ballad where the lyrics profess a longing goodbye to a loved one but which in the context of a live concert can be interpreted as a band delivering an appreciative 'sound off' to the audience who came to enjoy the music of these talented artists. The song goes, 'Fare Thee Well, Fare Thee Well my Honey. Fare the Well my only true one. Going to the River gonna sing sweet songs, to Rock my Soul.'

And soon enough the lights were all turned on inside of the arena and the concert was over. At that point, a foggy haze soon comes upon everyone as the scene shifts from dark, noisy, and inconspicuous to all of the sudden bright and rather quiet with thousands of other, nearly exasperated fans trying to make their way slowly towards the exit door. I had embraced the girl Michelle and her friend to follow my lead towards to exit. I'm generally quite agile and furtive when it comes to navigating through large concert crowds like these. I intended to get where I wanted to go with as little impatience as possible by careening through the seemingly obstructive crowds who chose to stand in the long lines as would cattle waiting to be corralled.

So the three of us walked hastily under my lead over the tops of empty seats, briefly zig zagging through the gaping holes of patiently waiting, tired concert goers. We soon enough found the arena's exits before spilling out upon the crowded hallways of the venue. We proceed past several gates, concessions and throngs of people in brisk movement while sharing a light hearted conversation along the way. Then suddenly I slowed my pace upon seeing my older brother’s friend, a guy whom he had to college with that I've known for years from having repeatedly run into at various music events and bars around Atlanta.

So as I stopped and hollered out his name, Jeffrey, the two girls whom I was walking with, ran over and locked arms with my brother’s friend and his fiancé. Well ironically enough, Michelle and her friend were also good friends with Jeffrey and they had arrived at the concert together earlier that night. So my newfound young lady friend was equally as astonished as I was that we had this mutual connection between us all. We shared this moment of disbelief until finally coming to terms with the coincidence of the situation. The group had then grown to six and we all made our way out the front door together.

They were all looking for a limo to take them back to their hotel. I was simply content with strolling the downtown area of Atlanta where eventually I was sure to make my way back across the two miles of urban neighborhoods that separated me and the midtown area where I live.

Seconds later while venturing along the crowded sidewalk just outside of the arena, I noticed someone else whom I knew, a good friend and coworker Chris, who also shares a fond appreciation for my kind of music. Thus it wasn't a complete surprise to run into him but nonetheless I quickly detached myself from the crew of people including Michelle, Jeffrey and the others and hollered at them a final good bye so as to stop and talk with my buddy for a few minutes. Chris was with a roommate and we conferred briefly upon similar feelings about a really well performed concert before we mutually nodded respect for one another and continued about our separate ways.

At this point it was probably about 11:30 pm. Walking just in front of the arena, their were still thousands of people making their way to the nearest Marta train stop, parking lots, hotels or surrounding taxi stands where they might be able to hail themselves a ride. In no particular hurry on this pleasantly cool Tuesday night, I just steadily kept walking through the familiar area of downtown towards the direction of where I needed to go. A few minutes later I passed two nice looking young girls who seemingly had also been to the concert, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk sharing a big bag of caramel flavored popcorn. Insatiated, I took a glance at their candied kettle corn and asked if they might be so kind as to share a small handful of their sweet-coated buttery goodness. They offered me a sampling and I continued on about my merry little walk.

But before venturing too much further, I ambled upon my old restaurant of employment which used to be called The Peasant Bistro before the owners decided to shut down operations three years earlier after having generated a sizeable sum of profits during the 2013 Final Four basketball championship that was held at the Phillips Arena that year.

I stood for a few minutes gazing at the front façade of the building in tribute to the place where I had spent much of my three years working there during my initial phase of living here in the city.

I walked just another half block before realizing that it was going to be a really long journey all the way back to where I live from there. Upon consideration of continuing my walk, I figured that it would likely be about 30 more minutes before arriving in the vicinity of my neighborhood at the current pace at which I strolled. Foreseeably at which point, an urge would likely compel me to stop in at one of the local bars for a final beer and interlude with the bartender about the evening before walking the final stretch back to my house. So rather than continue walking, I decided that it would probably be best to inquire about getting an Uber ride. However the conditions of my cellular phone situation where as a means of saving money on the monthly bill, I've made it a habit of carrying a subscription-less smart phone in addition to my cheap-o old flip phone. So the only means of accessing my mobile apps such as Uber and internet is via a public wifi hotspot.

Thus while standing outside the downtown area just a block from the restaurant where I used to work, I brainstormed where I might be able to tap into an internet signal. Just to my left there was the Hilton Garden Inn Hotel, a property that I was rather familiar with from having walked past it hundreds of times before when going to my old job. Inside of the hotel also is a nice Legal Sea Food restaurant for which I assumed would likely have some wifi signal that I might be able to synch up with my phone for the momentary purposes of calling an Uber.

While pondering the scenario outside, I noticed a young man who appeared to be one of the restaurant waiter's walking outside whom I assumed might be able to provide me some quick guidance on whether their was an internet signal for the restaurant or hotel which I could quickly use. He said that the hotel had wifi access and instructed me to go in and ask with the front desk. So feeling assured at my ploy for using my phone to call for an Uber, I walked on in to the lobby of which I had been into a handful of times in the past. Their had been one time years ago that I’d been instructed from the chef of my old restaurant to go and fetch a bag of mussels from the Legal Sea Food manager for the purposes ensuring an adequate supply to keep our restaurant adequately supplied for the evening. Such cooperation and borrowing of product is an occaisional necessity of neighboring restaurants. Thus the interior space of the hotel lobby and Legal Sea Food Restaurant was familiar to me. I also knew that there was a small kiosk inside the front door where guests were provided amenities such as complimentary sodas, snacks and newspapers.

Well this all seemed like a grand opportunity to play the part of a hotel guest and not only attempt to access the hotel's free internet wifi but also have a grab at atleast a bottle of water and a cookie. So in towards the small little kiosk I walked and to my surprise not only were the aforementioned items available but there was also a small glass cooler stocked with an assortment of beers. So unrestrained, I reached in, grabbed a dos equis and proceeded to walk back out past the lobby’s front desk with an air of belonging as if I were a registered guest at the hotel. I was friendly in my demeanor, offering a smile to the front desk ladies as I knew that I’d likely have to soon enough inquire with them about an internet password.

I took the opportunity to confidently walk over into the lounge and comfortably sit in one of their large sofas where a big screen TV of CNN news was on display. I was then basking in splendor, sunken into a cushiony piece of furniture, TV turned on and a beer in hand while I casually observed my surroundings and began to contemplate on the night just had. I soon pulled out my Iphone and began adding to the memo notes that I had scribed earlier during the concert about the songs played and the short reflective description that I had hoped would eventually transform into an article such as this one.

I continued to sit there unprovoked by either of the two ladies at the front desk for what felt like an hour but was probably closer to about 30 minutes. My eyes and fingers were mostly fixated on my phone’s keypad, as I typed vivid reflections and moments of the night. While casually sipping the beer and occasionally staring up at the television screen to get a glimpse of what the news anchors were talking about, I relished in the familiarity of my surroundings.

I felt at ease given the course of the evening for which due in part to a bit of local know how and slight toeing the lines of social etiquette had afforded me a relaxing place to set my landing gear. I was soon beginning to feel my energy replenished from the gratuitous hospitality in the hotel’s lobby. And I soon figured that it was time to proceed along back towards my house. I never actually ever arranged for that Uber ride as was originally intended instead having felt complacent enough with just the beverage and a comfortable place to unwind.

Upon getting ready to leave, another older gentleman sat down on a couch near where I was. So rather than just making a quick, hurried exit back out to the street, I played off my hotel lobby visit in a seemingly calm and composed manner. To placate the curiosities of those around me about whether I had reason or not to be there, I proceeded to invent a quick phone conversation that offered an allusion of someone whom I knew wanting to meet up just across the street for one last drink at a bar near where I was. Thus, I put the speaker of my iPhone up to my ear and quickly engaged in a mock, impromptu dialogue, somewhat similar to those ones that you might hear people having when their bored waiting in an airport terminal. The innocent diversion seemed reasonable enough as to not call attention to the fact that I might have just been someone who had cruised in off the street.

I played off the pretend dialogue by suggesting to the non-existent phone caller that I would venture across the street in a moment to go meet up with them. Now feeling comfortable in parting ways from my sanctuary there in the lobby, I quickly gathered myself and walked back out of the entrance.

Intent upon getting home as quickly as possible I walked along the familiar sidewalk, passing the large aquarium building on my right near where the Coca Cola Museum is and Centennial Olympic Park. Soon I would turn right onto another downtown street headed towards Peachtree St.

My eyes were on the lookout for a passing taxicab for which to hail for the rest of the ride home. Soon enough, I was in luck. Headed in the opposite direction was a yellow cab without any passengers. I stammered to the center median and swung my arm to get the driver’s attention. He suddenly slowed his vehicle, made a u-turn and quickly approached me before I hopped in with instructions of where to go. Alas, five minutes later, I was back home. Having safely arrived after an eventful evening, I was content to walk up the stairs to my second floor apartment and call it a night before a long, relaxing sleep.