The Devil Made Me Do It the First Time

Last night I got damn near squeezed to death by two people I hadn't seen in a great while. Not at the same time, mind you: that's the type of thing that could be construed as premeditated.

What I'm listening to: Black Rose, by Waylon Jennings. It's a shoutout to one who knows, and who's coming up to visit soon enough.

History: I don't know when I first heard this song, but I know the most memorable time it was playing. I was 20, in the front seat of my boyfriend's suped-up BMW 3-series (oh, you know, the Haartge kit, the Schnitzer tires...think I fucking remember?), going to the Krispie Kreme after hitting some of Savannah's finer drinking establishments. There's this one sharp, almost 90-degree turn on Skidaway Drive (was that its name? seems fitting) that sent Caroline, who was sitting in the back seat, from one side of the car to the other, which required that my boyfriend do some overcorrecting on the road. (She had a lot of junk in the trunk, see.) We laughed at the time, as Waylon played, but later on in Krispie Kreme as we watched the sad old graveyard-shift donut-making ladies behind the plexiglas, my boyfriend leaned over and whispered to me, "We almost didn't make that last turn, you know."