In a
rural area, on dirt and
gravel roads, we stopped by the
barn to visit our
horse. I kept bumping into an old man carrying a large clear
plastic tube filled with thin, limp, du Maurier
cigarettes. I saw him along the road, in the barn, in a
restaurant. While waiting for my meal in the
restaurant, I offered him one of my
cigarettes from my partially crushed pack. (I don't
smoke - perhaps a
phalic symbol?) The cigarette was still in perfect condition, thicker than the one hanging from the old man's mouth. He thanked me with a nod.
I also remember taking a dirt road that cut right through the scrap metal yard a few times. There were a lot of old vehicles especially chip wagons, vans and buses. The crushed and rusting buses were stacked neatly on top of one another in rows by manufacturer and model.
I was fascinated by all the decaying vehicles.