true rednecks

Im standing there, sweat beading on my brow, the Georgia sun a cruel, indifferent god overhead, and I can still taste the dust and the iron tang of the riverbed where we sank our boots. These arent just rednecks theyre the kind whove spent their lives in the creaky bones of the old South, their skin weathered like the clapboard houses behind us, their eyes holding the quiet ache of generations who never quite made it out. Im holding up the can like a trophy, a relic from the wild, hot, sticky afternoon Craze on the label, a joke we all know is a lie but it doesnt matter. Were here. Were soaking in the heat, the dirt, the slow, heavy rhythm of this place. Were true rednecks, and we dont care if the world thinks were too much. Were just tired, and were too damn proud to admit it. The land remembers us its in the cracks of the concrete, the rust on the fence posts, the way the light catches the dust in our hair. Were not heroes. Were just ghosts in the sun, with our bandanas and our grit, our feet in the mud, our hearts in the hollows of the old trees. Were here, and were not going anywhere. The heats gonna get us, the rivers gonna swallow us, but well still be here laughing, sweating, and singing, like the land itself is whispering, Yeah, youre still here. Were the last true rednecks. Were not trying to be anyone else. Were just trying to be here, in this place, with this moment and thats enough. Thats the only truth weve got.

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