Junkyard Jamboree
Two a.m., the floodlight hummin' over scrap
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Junkyard Jamboree
Past two in the morning, a salvage yard's floodlight catches a saw blade throwing sparks over a mountain of dead sedans. Dakota takes the rows of junked cars while Douglas stands in the gate light, and the man cutting catalytic converters out of the wrecked exhaust pipes sets his saw down in the gravel. He isn't stealing for the money: his grandad's '68 pickup is sitting in row nine of this same yard, and the yard wants three hundred dollars before it rolls out. By dawn the converters have been weighed on the yard's scale and the truck turns over on the second try.
Fuzzy guitars, a swampy strut and a raspy lead trade off with a loose two-voice gang shout made for yelling the chorus from the passenger seat. The bridge drops to one guitar, a boot stomp and handclaps while the count gets done, and the last chorus comes back bigger than the first. Put it on for a late-night drive, a slow night in the shop, or any evening that could use a little alley justice.
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