Drinkin Beer. Talkin God. Amen. (feat. Florida Georgia Line) May 2026

The neon sign of "The Rusty Anchor" buzzed like a trapped hornet, casting a low amber glow over the cracked vinyl booth where Chase and Miller sat. Between them stood two sweating longnecks and a bowl of pretzels that had seen better days.

They clinked glass—a dull, rhythmic thunk —and for a long moment, they just sat in the comfortable silence of the backwoods night. No deadlines, no traffic, just the shared understanding of where they came from and who was watching over it all. "Amen to that," Miller whispered. Drinkin Beer. Talkin God. Amen. (feat. Florida Georgia Line)

Chase took a slow pull of his beer, the cold crispness hitting just right. "Every week. Still in the third row, right behind your aunt. She still hits the high notes a little too hard." The neon sign of "The Rusty Anchor" buzzed