No. 151 - Bootleggin’ with B. Floyd
919 Words. 4 Minute Read.
As much as I like the Bandit’s ’77 Trans Am, I’d prefer a 1970 Plymouth Superbird with a rear wing and a 426 Hemi, in Vitamin C Orange—but I’d replace the Road Runner’s “Tweet, Tweet” horn with one that plays Dixie.
No. 149 - Bourbon, Bullets, and a Broke Down Truck
1,525 Words. 6 Minute Read.
I’ve traveled all over this great nation of ours—been to 47 states and visited every major city—and I can assure you that next to the majesty of the Rocky Mountains and the beauty of Northern California, Kentucky is one of the prettiest parts of America.
No. 121 - My Allman Brothers
475 Words. 2 Minute Read.
I want to feel Duane and Dickey’s git-tars glide through my brain like a hawk in a thermal … while booze poisons my bloodstream.
No. 111 - A Secret Cigar in the Blue Ridge Mountains
586 words. 2 Minute Read.
Located two and a half hours from Atlanta, Cashiers and its neighboring towns are where wealthy Southerners have been summering for the past century. When it’s ninety-six degrees and the air is stale in Atlanta, it’s in the mid-seventies and breezy in these hilltop villages where golf reigns supreme.
No. 78 - The Breakfast of Degenerates
650 Words. 3 Minute Read.
I haven’t woken up to a three-shot breakfast since gamedays in college. In those days I’d stumble down the stairs in my boxers and there’d be half a dozen guys passed out - some sharing the couch, others on the floor using bunched-up sweatshirts as pillows - all snoring like hobos in a box car and reeking of cigarettes. I’d crack two dozen eggs, fill the toaster with white bread, and pour “morning glory’s” for the gang … vast amounts of Jim Beam, Coke, and opaque ice cubes in plastic cups from Sanford Stadium.