Jammin at Bonnaroo
"Booonnnnarrrooooo . . ." I screamed in a piercing coyote-like tone into the pitch-black Tennessee sky. My head hung triumphantly out of the window of the black overcrowded Suburban packed with tents, sleeping bags, and junk food, while cigarette smoke congested any remaining air space. Twelve hours after we had set out for bible-thumping Manchester, Tennessee, my friends and I naively thought that our journey was just about over. It wasn't.