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mostly i remember how fucked up it all was. every light burnt out. all those lonesome images lined up forever. the deserted parking lots and highways, the 4am bar rooms. nothing pictures from the gone days. back then the radio was always spitting dead static that crackled like distant fire. and we were always guided by a pair of twisted headlites reaching out into nothing. endless nights chasing miles of cracked moonlight and all the lonesome ghosts on highways that turn to dirt and leave you for dead. there was always the smell of weed and spilled beer and rotten food. something was always rotten back then. sometimes those nights on the road made me feel more anxious than free. i should’ve died out there so many times. i remember running down the middle of the interstate on acid - the cars and trucks zipping by, but i couldn’t tell - to me they were harmless, just beams of colorful light. nothing could hurt me then. nothing could hurt any of us. we were too young and too drunk to dream of a time when we might be too old. and i remember diving into the shallow end of that hotel pool. i felt my neck snap back, but that’s it. nothing else. i got out of the water without a scratch. someone told me god was in the pool. that’s a funny thought - god in swim trunks in a hotel pool in north carolina. but if god’s everywhere then there’s a lot of places it’d be funny to see him - the bar or the strip club or in the laundry mat or in line at the grocery store or at the bank trying to cash a check. and there are plenty of nights i’ve forgotten and even more i wish i could forget. it gets so good and so bad. over and over it goes like that. some days i wanna go live under a rock, but then by nightfall you’re bored and you need a drink, and life’s about weird experiences isn’t it? but how many experiences do you need? most all the good ones end you up in the hospital or a rehab center anyway. but fuck it. they were all just days and nights anyway. and when it’s my turn to go you can inscribe my tombstone as such - They were all just days and nights. Fuck it.

Photographs & Text by Jordan Sullivan More Pricks Than Kicks, First Edition, 2011 All Images Copyright Jordan Sullivan 2011

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