There is a traffic light at North Rosemary Avenue. It used to be an entrance way to the factory. There are large cement barriers blocking the road to the weeds.
I imagine the train used to frequently stop at this area often.
Look at that history. If a picture normally is worth a thousand words, I would say that this one would be worth about twenty-five hundred. Do you know what model year this car is? Do you remember when the factory used to exist?
I don't know much about cars. I do know that this vehicle has moxy. It has character. This car is something that made it call to you. I'm not saying that I would have wanted to be around when this car rolled off of the assembly line. Not at all. That is too far back in history for my liking. I'd imagine the 'good ol' days' had some details that may leave one wanting. Marinate on that for a moment.
Look at those lines. That's American engineering showcasing beauty. There are times I wish I wasn't concerned about miles per gallon and I wonder what it would be like to mash it with a beast with whatever would be under that hood.
I can't decide if this says to me look at me know, hello or a solid wave goodbye. I've never named one of my cars before. I wonder if this scarlet lady has a name.
I don't just mean a model name attached to the year she was made. I mean a name like Donna, Sandra, Brenda or Angela. Monica. She looks like a Monica to me. Like a tall cold drink of water but ready to ride hot and hard, break a sweat but still shine. Yep, I think she sure does look like a Monica.
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