Box Head: The Savior

Every so often you come across a man, dare I say a savior, that encompasses a true feeling and understanding of a place.

My hat, or box goes off to Box Head. Some drunken hillbilly I saw at the bowling alley. God rest your moonshine soaked bones.

All I can say is that it takes a lot of balls to go around like this in public in your mid-thirties. At home? Yes. Out around town on a Wednesday? Lord NO!