Two hours after getting drunk on the rhetorical moonshine served up by Bill Clinton Wednesday night, delegates and hacks won’t stop believin’ there’s a decent place to get a real drink in this dismal Southern burg. We’re stumbling thirstily along South Tryon Street at 1:31 a.m. when a hunched lone figure is stopped by an excitable young woman. Dude is dressed all in black, scraggly beard, greasy hair, tiny frame. He’s so aggressively meek that he’s gotta be a celebrity of some sort. He looks like the rough draft they threw out when they were making Johnny Depp. AP Girls...