Worked alongside Jesse Jameson the other day. “That guy there is a carob tree. Fake chocolate.” As we drove up through Mill Valley he called out which ones he recognized, and it was quite a few. Sweet shade. Plum trees in blossom. Acacia.
“I was on a three day bender,” he said. “I’d go into a bar and my body would say, ‘Really? You’re going in here?’ and I would go on in. I don’t know why. there’s no prize at the bottom of a bottle.”
So I wrote a verse about that today as I drove around the city.
There’s no prize at the bottom of the bottle,
You’re holding brown glass, hollow in your hand
Sometimes things sound better when you’re alone in your truck singing to yourself.
Comments Off