Deuce Up, A-Town!

So I'm like, in Atlanta for a few days, at a convention for black journalists. There are workshops, and seminars, and a jobs fair. I don't actually want a job in the states right now, but hey, you never know.
Former President Bill Clinton gave the keynote speech yesterday, he looked well, and there was a lot of love in the house for the 42nd President.
I saw Jesse Jackson this morning as I was having a filthy fag outside the front of the hotel. But I didn't have the film in my camera yet so I missed the photo op.
Atlanta is big, and so far I've only really seen the country (more about that later), Evander Holyfield's house (the outside), and the hotel.
The hotel gym is basic, but I still got a good workout, as I have my own workout programme (thanks S).
The black folk in the restaurant are like our new best friends, and have been letting have full access to the buffet, as well as taking stuff back to our room. I'm talking salad and fruit, so don't get worried now. I'm keeping up my regime while I'm away, and if I even think about slipping, you can be guaranteed that some fat-ass man or woman walks past me just to remind me about where I am, and what can happen if you take your eye off the prize. Some of the people are so big here - I am in admiration that they are even on their feet. Worrying.
I am with possibly the most driven woman in journalism, who is up with the larks (while I'm out with the birds), and on 24-7. The fact that I had a cold meant my ass was dragging, but a straight whiskey helped no end, and plenty of vitamins.
I'm gonna go get me a job now. Holla!