from the poet Eva H.D., in Toronto: "Biking up Clinton Street at (no, really) Crestfallen Lane, I had to circle back against traffic at the sight of three Pontiac Parisiennes (fairly evenly spaced with an interval of a few cars between). What are the chances?
"Because my telephone, no matter how fulsomely-charged, turns itself off in the cold, I had to work quickly, so not great shots a-tall. Wasn't quick enough as I didn't catch the last, a deeply rusted goldybrown number with a GO LEAFS in the rear window and a Club standing guard at the wheel."
"Because my telephone, no matter how fulsomely-charged, turns itself off in the cold, I had to work quickly, so not great shots a-tall. Wasn't quick enough as I didn't catch the last, a deeply rusted goldybrown number with a GO LEAFS in the rear window and a Club standing guard at the wheel."
(AL: Here's 1963 Pontiac Parisienne, posted a while back.)
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