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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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I often pass by the Ashley River, its flow smooth. Reflect on my thoughts, breathe deep, let nature embrace me. Sometimes, realll unexpected graffiti on old walls sparks memories. I even had a mad rant once at a tiny cafe on Stevens Creek – why so loud, why so many rules? That kinda got me heated, but in a good way… life’s about raw expression, right?

Missing 70-year-old found safe