Bullets Tour, 2003

The low rumble of the van on the pavement is a sound you’ve drowned out already. Having been on the road for a few weeks now, you’re used to it. The smell of cigarette and sweat is something you’ve gotten used too, as well.

It’s around midday, the sun beating down as the scenery goes by. You’re sat in the last row of seats, along side Frank, occasionally listening to the others talk, but mostly keeping to yourself.

That is until Frank asks, “Do you know how much longer we have till Nashville? I swear I’m going insane in here.”