Listening to the Folsom Prison album, especially GREYSTONE CHAPLE.
It takes a ring of keys to move here in Folsom, but the door to the house of God is never locked.
I was trying to think how early my Cash-ination began, I guess it was here, in Wilmingon. Oh look, there’s dad’s briefcase in the corner. A a secret vault. I loved my pink glasses. My nana’s little shoes dwarfed by the work-boots. I love every pixel of these old polaroids.