I Pine for John Prine — and Peaches

Every time I open a can of peaches, I pine for John Prine, who died in April. I put on the radio, wash the dishes, and cry. He was the country singer I loved before I knew I loved country music. Prine was not one for the selfie age. He was humble, his face was funny, his voice was funny. It’s a sin he’s dead, and I can’t get him out of my head.