Long Old Cars

In praise of right angles
A silver Ford Falcon coupe parked in a handsome, leafy residential area, before a stone and wrought-iron gate
Images courtesy of the author and Damon Agnos

by John Saward

In an ongoing project that I would describe as a mix of scavenger hunt, communion with a screenless Earth, and spiritual voyage to days of bygone vibes, my friend Damon and I text each other pictures of old cars we find around town.

The dinged-up ’80s American sports cars with fresh tires that seem to be sitting on their haunches, proud despite their age, like a magnificent uncle in an unbuttoned shirt telling bad jokes at a barbecue. Silver El Caminos with skinny-spoke chrome rims sparkling like icicles in the late afternoon sun. Sixties Pontiacs with heavy metal doors that thunk satisfyingly when you close them.

The quiet dignity of a dented ’70s Buick LeSabre whose wheels are immaculately polished every time you see it. A Cadillac DeVille the color of lemon meringue that looks like it’s on its way to buy 1600 calories’ worth of milkshake from a Dairy Queen on a night so humid you can feel your knuckles sweating.

It’s a paywall, but a small one

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