I drive through the trees to your house.

My car door creaks open and i step out, too stiff to stretch after driving four hours straight from Monroe. I could use a shower but you guys are already out there, semi-lit on the porch. That little cheer that goes up is among the best of life because you are my friends and I’m enveloped and somebody’s got my guitar out of the back seat, and somebody hands me a beer and opens up a chair on the porch. An hour later it’s dark and the crickets are chirping and somebody busts out some dumbass song and we laugh. It’s time to play music. Somebody hands me my guitar and I am blessed. I am notched into my perfect place. With all of you, on the porch, under the stars, playing so quiet and so loud, echoing in the trees.

I want to play you some songs.