The car sat where the afternoon had left it, washed in light, caught between days gone and days never quite arrived.
The red of the seats still seemed warm, as if it remembered laughter, a quick hand on the wheel, the brief freedom of the open road.
Somewhere beyond the windshield, life kept moving, but here, among the polished dials and heavy air, time had leaned back — and stayed.
The red of the seats still seemed warm, as if it remembered laughter, a quick hand on the wheel, the brief freedom of the open road.
Somewhere beyond the windshield, life kept moving, but here, among the polished dials and heavy air, time had leaned back — and stayed.
