Cloud 9
Even without eavesdropping, you may have noticed some strange conversations around Nashville lately. Maybe there’s a table of breathless 20-somethings just across the restaurant, gleefully dissecting their best traits and owning up to their worst impulses with a bunch of (seemingly) random numbers.
“That’s my six coming out,” you might overhear. Or “My boss is a classic eight.” Even the dreaded “Guys, I think I’m a one.” But this is not some trendy new ranking system on the latest
