Rust respects no seasons, no makes. A ’63 Dodge 100 longbed. White, 50 miles north of Atlanta
No. 97: The Rest is Rust and Stardust
It Was Running When I Parked It
Beneath the pines and entangled in kudzu they lie — old cars, old trucks, erstwhile haulers of family and produce. Forgotten but not gone.
It Was Running When I Parked It 