chattanooga’s chill bites and sketchy taco trucks: a drummer’s 4am detour

it’s 9:12 am and my coffee’s gone cold. i’m hunched over a beat-up guitar in a chattanooga motel room, wifi sparkling like a neon sign in a coal town. the weather? 9.44°C, feels like 7.79-chill bites but no snoozefest. humidity’s 77%? feels like my sleeves are glued to my biceps. i’ve seen worse in a flannel shirt backstage at a smallville gig.

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