Whatever floats your boat.
Once you’ve got the deadman’s float down, it’s on to propulsion. Considering the intense hankerin’ I feel for the Bottle Rockets lately while I wait, drained dry of patience, for their new album to debut, I have not mentioned them over at the Lunch Encounter since, hmmm, since, hmmmm, it’s been too long. In my mind, I am pacing the widow’s walk for Lean Forward, the album to come. Leaning, leaning, into that curve, giving it the outrigger’s turn so as not to scrape my pedals on the pavement.
The Bottle Rockets will propel you, put the wind at your back, point your spyglass toward lesser known, land-locked meccas such as the High Dive in Champaign, Illinois. Those fellas give me reason to live, to live more, and to drive in search of sandwiches.