Listening to Jericho while driving with my dad through Ohio tobacco country, the dash of country girl in me comes alive. I like my music with a twang. Always have.

I never thought I’d admit this, but my favorite song on the album, "Atlantic City," was actually written by Bruce Springsteen. (OK, Jersey. You got me.) The song became special to me during a time when I thought I’d lost somebody great. Somehow, playing it on repeat kept my chin up during walks to class. The raspy, countrified voices remind me that life ain’t perfect, and that sometimes second chances do come around. If nothing else, Jericho can always make my hips sway, whether I’m wearing my cowboy boots or not.

When The Band croons, "Everything dies, baby, that’s a fact, but maybe everything that dies someday comes back," I get the urge to put my makeup on, fix my hair up pretty, and meet them tonight in Atlantic City. I’ll go back to hatin’ on Jersey tomorrow.


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