Grey heart. Not red. Not broken. Just... grey. That's the exact emotional temperature of standing in your driveway in August while the humidity assaults you like a wet gym towel and a palmetto bug the size of a key fob strolls past your foot like he pays rent.
South Carolina is a place you love with your whole chest and also complain about constantly. Boiled peanuts at a gas station: elite. Beach traffic on a Saturday: a war crime. The two football factions screaming at each other every fall like it's a hostage negotiation. Winter is three days in January and everyone loses their minds over half an inch of sleet. This shirt says all of it without saying any of it.
Soft, broken in from the first wear, and built with a sturdy stitch that handles washer after washer. Breathable enough for a humid tailgate, cozy enough for that one cold snap, and it keeps its shape and color like it actually cares.
