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Now, don’t go thinkin’ I’m all high ‘n mighty—I’m just a gal who sings bout heartache and rhinestones. But watchin’ her dodge the cops, I’m surprised how slick she is. Moves like a shadow, quiet-like. Reminds me of them *Moolaadé* women hidin’ from the elders—only she’s duckin’ blue lights, not traditions. I ask, “Ain’t ya scared?” She shrugs, says, “Fear’s a luxry I can’t afford.” Oof, that hit me harder’n a truck full o’ banjos.

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I beleive culture lives in corners.

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