A Memory of Sundays

To the virgins who made much of time

There was a time in my life, in my early twenties, when the search for the perfect biscuit occupied a great deal of my attention.

The perfect biscuit was elusive prey in my hunt through Atlanta neighborhoods for a great Sunday brunch with my college and post-college friends. A great biscuit was a sign that everything else was going to be ok in a restaura…