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I guess this club has decided to roll the dice.
As I was leaving, the bartender told me I should come back the next night. On Sundays, he told me, the Pink Pony girls work as bartenders and waitresses, since that's their night off from dancing. I made a mental note.
4:45 a.m., Sat., Oct. 1
In the cab on the way home, my eyes bloodshot and my mind wired with Red Bull, I decided that no good comes of partying past 4 a.m. And that's the whole point of staying out till the crack of dawn. Being good does not -- and should not -- come into the equation.
But what does factor into the late-night equation these days? If, several years back, you found yourself at Backstreet or Club 112 or Club Anytime, you were looking for a sweaty, messy, NC-17-rated experience.
Of course, you can still find that experience in Atlanta. It's just harder. And if you're an outsider looking for, speakeasies, it's near-impossible.
Otherwise, the post-3 a.m. options are a drive to Decatur or beyond -- or a Disney-esque entertainment district with a Night of the Living Dead emptiness.
In some ways, being forced to more covertly plan your late-night makes it more exciting. But in a larger sense, it's just one more thing to worry about. It used to be that everything fun after 3 a.m. was immoral.
Now it's illegal, too.
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