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.