Well it's all in the past again.  Another run of shows in Key West another trip filled with good friends and hard work.  Some beer, some %&*$@%$, some weed, some late nights and arguments and great moments of brilliance(self-importance?).  Some fucked up shit and some gnar gnar bro-heem truthyness.  No accidents or fights.  No new love but always new love, seen? The earth keeps spinning around us and we're not sure if we want to get off or not.  Then we realize that we fuckinng couldn't even if we wanted to.
  We drove down in the middle of March in our 1995 E-150 (formerly Jake D.'s) loaded to the gills with gear and people.  The trailer had all our gear plus some new subwoofers and live recoreding equipment and luggage for six (and a half).  I could hear the axle on our new bought antique trailer whining.  It screamed to me "simplify your deal son or your destined to push me beyond the limit."  I  ignored the whiny little bitch-ass axle of our trailer. 
  We didn't leave Floyd until nearly eleven on the night of the 9th.  Apparently the majority of the band thinks it's cool to risk our lives driving at night because there is less traffic.......sigh.  Anyway we get to somewhere in South Carolina and I pop some nasal decongestant and get ready for the 3-8 am shift (I think its one of my specialties when pseudoephedrephazephadrine is involved).  The road slips by like so many pointless dots on a screen.  I stop for some weird muffin and corn nuts.  Gas, accelerate and brake, gas, eat.  Who gives a fuck about an Oxford comma? We enter Florida and the sun starts to rise.  I cede control of the wheel.  I drink about a third of a bottle of Bacardi dark and pass out in the back seat.  Waking up at Bob Evans three hours later with a pounding headached somewhere in the human desert of northern Florida is about as unpleasant as getting thumb screwed by Hillary Clinton (why Hillary?  Cuz watching her little gerbil chin giggle with glee as the thumb screw breaks its first nail would be unbearable).
   The sausage on the weird skillet/death/slime plate I order smells like a dying animal.  I feel like shit after the worst breakfast ever and put my sunglasses on.  Sunglasses bring you closer to god. I feel a little better.
   By the time we get to the Florida Keys things have taken on the endless/timeless feeling of the long road trip.  The lower back muscles, the bad food, the same lovely people.  For some reason I didn't even bring a magazine to try to read while driving. (roadsickness anyone?).  Spirits rise as the road opens up its definite direction with its expected dead end. 
  Key West slaps me in the face with a smooth love of warm weather and familiarity.  I have the guys drop me off at a small cafe on the beach wher C and his brother are playing tunes.  I have a Negra Modelo and say hello to a dozen friendly familiars.  I get up and play a few tunes with the guys.  D shows up and we chill for a bit.  He shows me pictures of a swollen lip.  We ride on the scooter and I get dropped off at the studio.  My sweet treasured solitude once again.  The bed in the loft with the air conditioner on 70 with the comforter is purrrfect.

 - Zeph