Dead Corvairs: Photos from the Junkyard Grave
A Corvair Life
Even a machine like a car passes with time. Ages. Becomes a burden. Crippled. A relic from another time that only a few pursue and treasure. Maybe the car can pass on some value, some last usefulness before it's dead.
Not unlike people.
An old person sitting in a park. Biding their time. Reliving past glory and memories of days when they were vibrant with life and desired. Needed.
Not unlike old cars.
While a car did not live, it did have a life. Traveled to all kinds of places, had all kinds of adventures, saw many sights. As time marched on, it too, inevitably got older. Fell out of favor with the media, became not wanted. Each year it happened, gradually. Just like people. Each year it moved a little closer to its demise until at some point it was abandoned in a field, a barn, towed to a junkyard. In all these places, the body slowly decayed from its prime, beautiful youth to a discarded, old pile of nothing. Every once in awhile, a seeker would find it in its sorry state and lament and recall its glory days!
Not that unlike aging people.
At some point, the DNR code is placed on the car (do not resuscitate) or a seeker, who never fell out of love with it, despite all the years passing, rescues the relic. Takes it home. Baby it. Nurse it back from the death bed until it is able to move on its own strength. The seeker continues feeding life back as if they were a God with magical power. The power was love. Soon, the once old ugly car returns to its prime. It has a new life. A second chance! Time has worked for it now, before it was against. Now, wherever it goes, people stare. Admire. Want to get close. Touch. It is like being 17 again.
Its too bad people can't be like old cars.
