Everyone has a car story, but not everyone remembers it until they see "that thing" that tickles it awake again. It could be a taillight. It could be the dashboard knob that fascinated you as a child. It could be the power window switches your parents told you to stop playing with. It could be the first convertible you saw that changed your idea of what a car COULD BE. I guess I see cars the same way I store memories, it's all one jumble of fragments.

For me, it's the little things. The decals on the hood of a Trans-Am that remind me of a summer evening in my old 1978 Gold Special Edition with the T-tops out, the stereo cranked up, Foreigner filling our ears, and an open sky with a meteor shower above and 7-11 slushies in hand. Nineteen years old and the world was perfect and it was mine.

Seeing an old Toyota hubcap at an auto wreckers and suddenly remembering being five again in a time where kids could sleep in a backseat without three layers of bubble wrap and five seat belts. Surfing back and forth under a warm, fuzzy seventies coloured puke green blanket with a picture book (with cats, always cats) and a cup of animal crackers and a thermos of cold water nearby. Knowing my mom was up front and I was safe and I was loved.

Seeing a Chrysler badge and remembering my horrible and wonderful $100 used first car that was close to falling apart from day one, and the trepidation of that first cruise on my own on the $5 worth of gas I put in it because insuring it took everything else. It was an old Red Top taxi. It was ugly AF, but it was mine and I was free, the first time in my life I felt like I wasn't just a kid, even if mom had spotted me the $5 for gas.

These are my stories. I'd love to know yours if any come back to you. My email is in the footer. Reach out if you want.

In any case, thanks for your interest in my photography. If you want to see more (only a fraction of it lives here), check out my blogroll link above or check out my Linktree.