An expansive flock of slate grey clouds span the sky as I drive along the narrow highway. The landscape rolls beside me, before me. The hills and subtle ridge lines guide the highway that bears my passage. Rural fields are dotted with gigantic cotton gins, dilapidated barns. Small colonies of trailers and rented houses populate gravel side roads, sprouting like branches from the main highway. I am northward bound, driving into an increasingly brisk wind.

Friday Night Teammates

Somewhere in my house there is a large photo album. Real, physical pictures fit into narrow plastic sleeves, telling my family’s story. If you look at one of the earlier pictures, you can see a small boy at a football game, wearing a much-too-big t-shirt and an oversized ball cap. It's Friday night, the lights are out. The boy stands at the rail, midfield, taking in the scope of the scene. His father stands beside him.