This story the day after Nanci Griffith’s death will always be incomplete, because how can I tell you about the 10-year-old friend I never had?
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Ten years ago today, I got in my Honda Civic to start a 3,140-mile drive to a new home and a new life.
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In which I recall being an insufferable know-it-all about one of my favorite singer-songwriters. A story with a plot twist you’ll no doubt figure out!
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There’s nothing like listening to “September Fifteenth” and remembering being on the road to becoming me — in the driver’s seat, not a passenger.
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What does Elton John’s “Sacrifice” have to do with driving on the hilly streets of San Francisco? Nothing, really, but in one vivid memory, everything.
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I was midway through a nearly three-hour drive after midnight. It was raining. At least one other person who was still awake noticed: the DJ at the radio station I picked up at some point after crossing into Texas.
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