There is a kind of love that makes you hang on to things. I see that love in these cars as I ride my bike and walk around Ventura. Their beauty lies somewhere in a memory of times past, a history I will never know.
My first car was a red 1979 240D Mercedes. I drove it for twelve years; it moved with me from North Carolina to California. I got rid of it when my mechanic told me he would no longer fix it. The bolt that holds the seat belt had rusted away from the frame. I know this kind of love.