The bulk of “Corona” rolled under me. My sweet little rustbucket drifted away from the denser part of the junkyard.
Nothing had “easy money” stencilled on the side, like old-timey electronics that belonged to nobody. All the gold and tantalum just sat there, so lonely. “Keeps me searching for a heart of gold, and I’m getting old,” I sang under my breath. Oldies were the best. Continue reading “Corona (1)”