"Honey Slides" by Adam Gnade
Put on your helmets and pith-hats and gloves. So we ran and hid and surrendered and finally did we retreat to the land above the red hills where stretch no telephone wires and we saw burnt-down shotgun shacks and the rust and fire-gutted skeletons of school buses and there we sat on the raggedy edge in lawn chairs and sunglasses and watched the sky dissolve into twilit light and the grape-y dusk of sunset.
But the sun set now on another election year and we left another town behind, darling. And at midnight on a Sunday in November, Jessie and I sat low in our seats in a movie theater on Hawthorne then walked out to the drizzling sidewalk, wet, gray and dull-lit with headlights and the blur of racing taxis and misty glowing streetlamps.
And we stood together as the late-night traffic rushed by and she said, “God, I can’t believe you’re leaving without me again.”
But we packed amps and drum cases and spread ourselves out across the plains
and rainy highways, all our friends in bands and vans in carparks and motel parking lots. We see Sinaloa in snowy expanse. We drink Lonestar beer in midnight Austin. We sit backstage in London and stare into the makeup mirror, glass plastic framed, etched with initials and phone numbers.
We dance in vans and eat poisonous honey from mason jars and see the yellow smear of headlights through the windshield while the bass and beats ooze from the car stereo.
And now behind us jobs and utility bills and bad bosses disperse into steam. Because tonight we’re not poor and burdened by habits and wartime blues; tonight we have no friends fighting cancer and endless debt. Tonight our past means nothing and nothing we do is too debilitating.
So give us white lines to start our hearts; give us auditoriums and ballrooms and clubs. Fill our dressing rooms with gin and red wine and we’ll give you back songs.
None of this lasts forever. All good life will pass. But we’re driving all night tonight so let no man stop our flight.
New project on the horizon...
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