I never thought that country radio all the way out here would sound so similar - make me feel so comfortable. Is it ridiculous to say that when the Amazonian, imposing owner of the real estate agency (at which I've spent a week) came in with an almost scripted-seeming purpose of tuning the radio to KSON that I felt like I'd lucked out? What's worse is that I don't believe in luck per se, but I couldn't believe it. It felt as though she single-handedly saved my life. Without the luxury of people to talk to, or to touch, I feel like it was the closest thing anyone could do to ambulance me - marooned in a self-imposed isolation. Dramatic, I know (though with the addition of music, I suppose it could be considered melodrama) but give a boy a break. Between counter-sinking screws and belt-sanding, I spent my day humming or singing lowly to myself

Thunder Rolls, Love Without End Amen, even Shania Twain sounded good for the first time. There were songs I grew up listening to in the cab of my dad's '87 Silverado (the red one my sister totaled, not the '86 that I drove after high school) - the A.M. radio crackling from lightning strikes. There were songs with often-manufactured twang, glossy modern over-production, and Auto-Tuned vocals. I felt at home with them all and wondered how this office full of women in California could possibly be singing along with me? Feeling so comfortable, I let my own twang slip out more than ever. "Ain't" came as naturally as ever, as did "I'on't give a shit" and "I'on't know."