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my brother went missing, he mentioned being depressed. Some family thought the worst.. "he jumped in the river."
"I bet he killed himself."
me? I looked at the moon , felt the air... and said
"he's camping on the shore."
Guess which one it was.
I walked right by him, on the manhunt this morning....within 50 feet, after his destination as unknown. We did not find each other til later, he simply showed up at home. He was sleeping.
more than odds like that, my brother and I.
I asked if he wanted to go for a ride, that always feels good. Get some coffee, and just drive. We talk of cars, he knows how in depth I go.
We get pulled over for going too fast (just another stop in the dual range trucker wagon), and the cop lets us go. I caught him looking a bit longer at the dual shifters. The antique plate is decided to be genuine. Friendly cop.
Further down the road, maybe a mile..we are looking at the for sales on cars in peoples yards, as my little sister is looking. We stop at this mercury tracer, and I said..
"that is identical to grandmas little sport wagon."
She passed in 2005...we are approx 50 miles from the town she lived in.
her last years were on oxygen. I remember her trying to fix very rapid rust.. this wagon has no rockers, completely disintegrated.. and its a 99 with low miles. Same year, color.
Spooked us both.
to pick my own spirits up... I remembered my talks with grandma about my chevelle when I was a growing kid. I learned what to look for, they were not all that old..20 years ago. Stopped and looked over a 72 malibu coupe on the way home. I beeline my routine to rear framing, spot small pipes and know its a small block before popping the hood. Shifter on the floor, console..matching the generation. A long line of rivet holes in the fenders.. possibly longer SS logos missing, 350 chevy. A wimpy runtime, maybe 2 inch shrunken duals nicely fit. Frame beautiful. I looked over A-pillars at the roof to see if this had a life of grunt..sure nough the paint is popped and cracked. To the back window and trunk seams... this chevelle had a good life. Opened the hood, something on the top end burned...as in outright fire. All looks good otherwise.
Strange day today.
Life goes on, even where there is no path to find it again. I'll stick to chevy with a v8 I think.
My brother, the problem is gaining as years go by. A slowness. Strangely, it is all the more lovable.
After not realizing he jumped the hearts of everybody.. he approaches me and tells me about a bass he saw jump up out of the water, and eat a frog.
Such is life.
I let him move the buggy around the yard. The tranny sound just going reverse is very much a truck. Freaky truck car. He was dead revving throttle gently, the smirk on his face said it all. He is a foot pounder like the rest of the males in my family.
"I bet he killed himself."
me? I looked at the moon , felt the air... and said
"he's camping on the shore."
Guess which one it was.
I walked right by him, on the manhunt this morning....within 50 feet, after his destination as unknown. We did not find each other til later, he simply showed up at home. He was sleeping.
more than odds like that, my brother and I.
I asked if he wanted to go for a ride, that always feels good. Get some coffee, and just drive. We talk of cars, he knows how in depth I go.
We get pulled over for going too fast (just another stop in the dual range trucker wagon), and the cop lets us go. I caught him looking a bit longer at the dual shifters. The antique plate is decided to be genuine. Friendly cop.
Further down the road, maybe a mile..we are looking at the for sales on cars in peoples yards, as my little sister is looking. We stop at this mercury tracer, and I said..
"that is identical to grandmas little sport wagon."
She passed in 2005...we are approx 50 miles from the town she lived in.
her last years were on oxygen. I remember her trying to fix very rapid rust.. this wagon has no rockers, completely disintegrated.. and its a 99 with low miles. Same year, color.
Spooked us both.
to pick my own spirits up... I remembered my talks with grandma about my chevelle when I was a growing kid. I learned what to look for, they were not all that old..20 years ago. Stopped and looked over a 72 malibu coupe on the way home. I beeline my routine to rear framing, spot small pipes and know its a small block before popping the hood. Shifter on the floor, console..matching the generation. A long line of rivet holes in the fenders.. possibly longer SS logos missing, 350 chevy. A wimpy runtime, maybe 2 inch shrunken duals nicely fit. Frame beautiful. I looked over A-pillars at the roof to see if this had a life of grunt..sure nough the paint is popped and cracked. To the back window and trunk seams... this chevelle had a good life. Opened the hood, something on the top end burned...as in outright fire. All looks good otherwise.
Strange day today.
Life goes on, even where there is no path to find it again. I'll stick to chevy with a v8 I think.
My brother, the problem is gaining as years go by. A slowness. Strangely, it is all the more lovable.
After not realizing he jumped the hearts of everybody.. he approaches me and tells me about a bass he saw jump up out of the water, and eat a frog.
Such is life.
I let him move the buggy around the yard. The tranny sound just going reverse is very much a truck. Freaky truck car. He was dead revving throttle gently, the smirk on his face said it all. He is a foot pounder like the rest of the males in my family.
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