Let the disappointments pass, let the laughter fill your glass.

Eleven on a scale of ten, honey, let me introduce you to my redneck friend.

Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels. Looking back at the years gone by like so many summer fields.

I never was a very good singer.

I was doing my best Bogart, but I was having trouble getting into her jeans.

Coffee in the morning, cocaine afternoons.

I started playing the trumpet when I was about eight.