This is a truly Holy place. Celestial light shines softly through exhaust-stained glass, casting shadows on corrugated steel and old timber. Retired license plates line the wall, ticking off the years, marking the relentless passage of time. The subtle smell of grease mixes with the acrid odor of torched iron and acetylene.
Listen closely and you can hear the ghosts of clinking wrenches and the gentle hiss of air leaking slowly from an ancient compressor.
Listen closely and you can hear the ghosts of clinking wrenches and the gentle hiss of air leaking slowly from an ancient compressor.
Pretty cool jalopy too.
I could live there for the rest of my days and never whinge, providing there was a two wheeled transport of delight nearby, the perfumes of dreams and light of all that is beautiful . . . nice '32 as well.
ReplyDeleteNice, that shop reminds me of the bike shop I used to work in, also a shop space I used to rent as well. Timbers and corrugated, galvanized steel . Unfortunately both were torn down.. to make way for yuppie housing, in one case..yuppie shopping space for the other..Funny, I'm looking at a couple of 'quonset huts' built of corrugated metal. Trying to see if myself and a few partners can rent them before they decide to tear them down. Part of a complex where French bread was once baked, think they were the garages for the delivery trucks.Wonder if it still smells of bread in there...
ReplyDeleteNice car as well. One of the reasons my pals and I need a space....Hot Rod dreams...