My publisher, Arthur Buenahora, set up a writing appointment between me and Luke Dick for the first time, and I was up late the night before wood shedding, trying to find an idea that was outside the box enough to write with this guy who I had researched online just enough to know he was an eccentric. I must’ve said a prayer for a great idea, because that’s what I often do when I’m feeling like I’m all written out, and I think God answered that night. I had a melody, and parts of a verse and chorus by the time we got together the next day, and Luke liked the vibe. We put our heads together and wrote Cold on Luke’s back porch while smokin cigars in the August heat.