Those old backroads.

Hearing the old country songs I grew up with takes me back to my hometown. Home to where tractors cause the traffic jams. Home to where “rush hour” is “rush minute” and where Dolores cashes your checks and where Sal dispenses your drugs. Home, where nothing’s changed but me.

Those songs help my mind slip back into the days where my best friend was my dog and my yellow headphones blared Kenny Chesney, Shania Twain and Keith Urban’s latest albums on repeat. Where I twirled and danced along the driveway like I had not a care in the world.

There was nothing better than that place, than my hometown. Nothing better than local sausage and an omelette, nothing better than local chocolate milk and a greasy bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich.

I wish I was home again today. I miss those old backroads that led to nothing but trouble.

For now, I only have those songs.

3 thoughts on “Those old backroads.

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