Along a curve on a bendy Georgia highway, where the land lies like a crumpled blanket, rests a ’63 Ford Galaxie 500. Beside that is a ’53 Chevrolet Biscayne. Toccoa, 85 miles north of Atlanta.
No. 98: A Twofer
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 