Field Notes From the Border Static

Field Notes From the Border Static Not every tour day deserves an essay. Some deserve a list: motel key cards, wrong-exit tolls, the smell of ozone behind the desk. I keep a running voice memo titled “border static” — not political, literal: the hiss between stations when the highway has no playlist left to give. Last night I built a drum loop from a slowed-down recording of couplers clanking. It might never leave the hard drive. It still changed the set.