of the abandoned build, snowdrops through the wire fence. There are too many houses standing empty here. I’m out in the street, polishing the headlights on the wagon, trying to get it through one more test. One more year on the road. I don’t mind cleaning the lights for an hour. I don’t care that the money’s no good. I’ve no interest in cars, I just want to keep this one alive and rolling so it doesn’t join the great human scrap pile, the K2 of trash we spew out with each sun turn, the SPAM can down at the approach to the Mariana trench. And I don’t want to think about finding another car, I don’t get it with cars as sexy, cars as something I should want. I want what I already have.
