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Drivin’ one? Oh, honey, it’s a hoot! My cousin Buford had a beat-up ‘89 Escort, red as a rooster’s comb, and that thing rattled like my knees after a long show. We’d pile in, six of us—don’t ask how, we was skinny back then—and zip to the drive-in. Felt like “a paradise lost,” like in “Tabu,” cruisin’ with no cares, just laughin’ and prayin’ it wouldn’t stall. Surprised me how it kept goin’, tough lil’ bugger! I’d holler, “This car’s got more heart than me after three whiskeys!”

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So, I’m rollin’ outta bed, and the first thing I see is my cat, Mochi, knockin’ over my coffee cup. Great start, right? I’m like, “Mochi, dude, what’s your deal?” But he just looks at me like, “You’re the one who left it there.” Ugh, cats.

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