ジョシュ・ブローリンのインスタグラム(joshbrolin) - 8月22日 13時47分

My mom use to love the Palomino Club in LA. I was 8 years old and I was there one night with my mother in some motor home behind the venue with all these Country Western singers: Mel Tillis, Waylon Jennings, Glen Cambell, Willie, Conway Twitty, and all their hanger ons. All of them had beer in hand and whatever else they were doing and there was my mother, always the bellwether, leading the storm deep into the night with her loud bullfrog voiced stories and a mischievous glint in her eye that was always primally searching for the deepest pile of shit she could coerce the gang into. At one point that night I was in the little cubical of a toilet, eyes closed, trying to focus on emptying the bladder, and I suddenly heard glass break, followed by loud laughter, a scream, then a bullhorn, some cops saying: "Pull her back in. Come on guys. No more trouble tonight". I thought about just staying in that bathroom because I knew once I opened that door I would inhale, at that moment, like some mist of a ghost that was waiting in the air, my future which was a country western themed chaos that would forever be percolating a hot uneasy steam in me. I put my forehead to the door, imagining what was out there. I imagined what it would be like to be 40 years old, beer in hand, a new pair of lizard skin boots on, a leather jacket draped over my shoulder. I could see it. I knew it was inevitable. I opened my eyes, zipped up my little polyester pants, gathered an 8 year old's courage, quietly unlocked the door, and slowly opened it to silence: an empty motor home, glass broken all around, lipstick smeared on the white carpet, and four cigarettes still burning in an ashtray on the little fold out table to my right. And like a far away whisper, I could hear Waylon singing "Luckenbach, Texas" as if it was coming through a transistor radio with antennas that had been ripped off by some child long ago.

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