I thought the asphalt was going to melt my shoes. We were lined up for over an hour to get into the back lot of Grimey’s. The stage was set, but we had still two hours to go before Jason Isbell was going to play his new album.
They played the long par three back towards the clubhouse and the setting sun. The horizon burned like embers of a spent fire, orange and yellow ascending to the light then dark blue of the night sky. The westerly blew into their faces, now red with chill. Their eyes watered and lips chapped. The air tightened the skin over their cheeks; the bags under their eyes receded. They were invigorated. They felt alive.