Highway Jackson

It’s almost midnight as sound creeps from a dark corner in an empty bar. The bartender yells at the drunk who just wet himself as he danced aimlessly with his concoction of liquor while trying to drink away that week’s labors. Soon it’ll be last call and the night, like many before it, will be over. The bell tolls. Traveling from dirty bar to dirty bar, unloading, loading, setting up, breaking down, playing, screaming, singing, jumping, sweating; it takes its toll.