Ancient stomping ground
The plucky twang scales down, down, down the familiar bass line. The rhythmic clash of the tambourine. Nancy Sinatra’s unmistakeable vocals. I’m awake before the first note; eyes on the canvas above my face.
A smile spreads over my face in immediate recognition. “You keep sayin’ you’ve got something for me …” I throw back my swag cover, shimmy out of my sleeping bag cocoon.