As the result of a long string of improbabilities, I was in a motel a thousand miles from home, performing this song for someone I’d spent the previous year trying to forget. I played it and later, when everyone else had gone to bed, a song I’d written about us. He criticized the music; I asked him what he thought of the lyrics.
“I don’t pay any attention to words, I just listen to the music,” he replied. I knew he was lying.
“You know, I’m a writer. I don’t have room in my life anymore for people who don’t pay attention to the words,” I said. I put the guitar in the case, snapped the hinges shut and stood up to leave. I had an early flight home and I still had to pack.
Dixie Chicks doing that same Patty Griffin song: