ジョシュ・ブローリンのインスタグラム(joshbrolin) - 11月19日 11時38分

You get in, put the key in the ignition, turn it clockwise, and the starter generator gets the pistons pumping and the cams begin turning. You put it in drive. You move forward. Dust spits and billows behind you. Chris Stapleton, who you had on cassette when you pulled up late last night, only one bedside lamp still on, was in the middle of singing about the differences between whiskey and his woman. I must have played this tape off and on all day long. The washboards on the dirt road jiggle your full stomach and keeps you sound until you pull up to the house again, this time with wife and baby softening the ambience in tow. But before you pull up, during that wake up, as you round the first corner west, you see the sun, squint, and look to your right where your wife has been silent listening to the same song, and the light paints her angelic and it suddenly feels like there’s a chorus of children singing background from the bed of your truck just for you. Then behind you, you remember, there is one fine angel who squeaks and pops like she grew up feral in some bucolic zoo and you smile a crooked, almost teary smile at her even though she’s sleeping, finding solace in the bumpity bumps traveling below her. It’s another mile or so before we get home and I’ll live 15 lives before I get there: JP’s horses, the turkey we have to stop for, the vultures standing tall over the deer who must have died earlier today. The moon is gibbous. Contrails line the sunset. And the barn is dark except for flashes of a video game nobody’s played in almost a year.
@chrisstapleton #ranchlife

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