August 11th, 1973

Drunk is just a way to keep the pain away. 

Rolling through the beginning of a misty blue and pink twilight down highway 65 toward Mobile, Alabama. 

Gently sloping hills stretching off into haze– deep green tall forests on either side of the road. The sun, a pink smear opaqued by thick smoky blue sheets of cloud.

We’re listening to a crackly broadcast on the radio– some country comedian. The station keeps fading out. Pop is smoking a cigar and chuckling. You can see the highway curving and stretching like a broad flat cement snake out of sight in misty mountains in the distance.