It rained for days and finding ourselves in need of adventure we
decided to try and find the infamous Brushy Mountain State Prison. Our search took us deep into the mountains
where only wilderness survives on slopes steep and ravines deep. Each hollow shrouded in fog and divided by cold
white runoff. It was deep state, the kind
where few people venture and fewer live, each stead a raw boned life of
poverty. We found Brush Mountain, her
yellow walls buried in the back of two mountains caged by steel and barbed wire
but mostly by wilderness that would never give a man up. It was where Tennesseans buried their most
habitual way-wards, where we sealed their fate to be forever prisoners of there
deeds and of a deep state that showed you the proof, escape here and the mountains
will bury you.
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