May 30, 2010

A Running Car

Please excuse me if I find a running car sexy, especially if it's dirty and used, coke cans scattered across the dash, spilled on rotten cushions, the sound of a radio whispering through its slightly cracked window -- somebody's car -- someone with a soul, with possesions, an eroding history pitted inside a car, still running.

And me, a tad bit voyeuristic, watching and waiting, the culmination of will-they-ever-come-for-the-get-away or will the car just stall there, idling?

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