On my way to Wildacres, this hat comes racing up behind me. I had JUST gotten a speeding ticket in Chesnee, SC when this crackass comes hurdling around a curve and right up my arse. Certain it was another cop, I slow to a crawl. Yeah. Lookit, I was five-minutes past a $155 fine for going 52 in a 25 (School Zone – Win.)
After about twenty minutes going 30 mph, I realize that no, it ain’t a cop. I relax, light a smoke, but continue my piddlin’ speed. Because I’m entranced by this fucking hat. I can’t tell what it is. On whose head it sits. Baffled, I become convinced that it’s a large, black, floppy church hat.
Shortly after my church-hat revelation, the road opens up and the broken yellow line appears. The hat comes speeding past me. I strain to see the wearer. And I just. Can’t. Figure. It. Out. The car whizzes by and jerks back into the right-hand lane. Oh yeah, the hat is pissed. But damn, if you don’t want attention, don’t wear a mesmerizing hat, a’ight?
We enter Rutherfordton. After several tries at several slow points, we finally stop at a light and I whip the phone camera into action. And this–this is the moment I realize that the driver is not, in fact, an old black woman with a massive hat. It’s a cowboy.