Eternal Wisdom of the Southern Mind

Classic txt-chat from Skynyrd at City Stages, aka its death rattle, aka my birthday weekend extravaganza (because, really, how much cooler does it get than sharing a faded beach towel with your boyfriend while sitting with your parents and his parents?)

me: Eeew, what smell???

me: Seriously? That’s what that song is about?

TR: It’s about drugs and alcohol

me: Oh, rally? Never realized it. Is it critical or complimentary? B/c it doesn’t sound like he’s too happy about that smell

TR: Critical. ‘Too much smoke, too much coke; oak tree, you’re in my way.’ I think a friend of theirs died.

me: Ah. But he kept on doing it, didn’t he?

TR: Well yeah, probably. But he died in a plane crash, so drugs didn’t kill him.

me: I know, sad day. If you become a rock star, you have to promise not to ride in airplanes. It never ends well for the best ones. Or just promise to be mediocre


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