Doolin Dalton

When I was young I rode with a pretty wild bunch for a while. One of the desperadoes I lived with was a cat named Robert Teague. Bob was the archetypical stud high school running back who ended up in Vietnam and came back different and not caring much about how other people thought he should live. He majored in lost causes, having fun, the big score that never arrived and life was always quite interesting, to say the very least. Bob died way too early, of a busted heart, leaving a passel of children all over the place. He was an outlaw and a great friend and we simply tore it up in the full vigor of our youth. On the rare night when the party had died down and the lights got real low he would reach for his guitar and sometimes I was lucky enough to hear him play this J.D. Souther song.