What can I say other than that the brunch bar at Weaver Street hasn’t changed in three years? My co-ownership code still seems to be active. I’ll pay y’all the other $50 one of these days, I promise. We spent most of the meal trying to determine if a nearby fellow was gay. Oh, and a quick walk down Franklin Street to burn off the calories led us past this mural beauty, courtesy of yours truly and a summer of begrudging manual labor. I’ll get you one day, Michael Brown!