On a recent Saturday evening, downtown Atlanta's Mitchell Street had plenty of open parking spaces. The stretch of storefronts near the corner of Spring Street was mainly quiet, except for one. In the front window of Lunacy Black Market, an artist was visible drawing in charcoal on an easel. Beyond him, in the homelike hodgepodge of a dining room, a few customers ate at tables; some lounged on the floor leaning up against comfy couches as if they were in their own living rooms.
The couches bump up against low coffee tables and a scattering of mismatched tables and chairs. The walls are adorned with items ranging from a portrait of Michael Jackson to long kimonos to a decorative treble clef perched behind a rotating display of greeting cards. Large paper lanterns hang from the high ceilings.
There is very little about Lunacy Black Market that feels familiar in the sense of a restaurant experience. But there's a lot about it that feels familiar in the more personal sense. It's like dinner at a friend's house. A slightly crazy friend, but it's not like you weren't warned. The place is called Lunacy, after all.
(Photo by James Camp)
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