“Part gypsy, part folk, fluidic and calm, or calm if it weren’t so heart breaking. With a sadness etched into each line and each verse, there’s a feeling of warmth and reflection…”

It’s bigger here, faster. SUV bumpers ride up to my hips, steaks come in slabs as bloated as fists and talk runs at rates that I can’t penetrate. Wide open spaces with every bit packed up and built on and everyone got to get first. Southern Rock dominates each bar I find, bloated like those steaks but with half less to chew on.

Exit to Mexico Beach. Highway 98 so long, straight and one-laned a road that it’s easy to drift down its high-pine lined stretch. Got told it’s a shifted down, stripped down beach front, without the rude lights and the half builts and built up. Air smelt a little cleaner there.

From white sand that drops steep into warm green sea water I caught earshot of whoops and applause. I dried off to move to the source.