A decade or so I went looking for one. I found a TR someone had in a barn down some hollow in Tennessee or Kentucky. While it ran (horribly) the mice and a good deal of rust had also found it. I noticed the latter damage while examining the road up-close through the holes in the floorboards. But, for a brief moment, that wind and the sputter of the engine was pretty grand.
Ah. some interesting back story to add depth. When I was in high school, I dreamed of owning a Triumph. Now I know what it is like to ride in one.
A decade or so I went looking for one. I found a TR someone had in a barn down some hollow in Tennessee or Kentucky. While it ran (horribly) the mice and a good deal of rust had also found it. I noticed the latter damage while examining the road up-close through the holes in the floorboards. But, for a brief moment, that wind and the sputter of the engine was pretty grand.
I agree with Shane! He feels like a guitar string wound too tight.
Also, your story will not be purged because of the reference to the Enola Gay 😆 glad I got to read it before it’s wipe from the internet!
Hah! That’s a funny thought. Maybe it’ll just get the [Redacted] treatment?
Some really nice writing here, J. You really brought George's father to life. He feels real - and restless. I like him already.
Loving the text dividers. Are those pieces of the map?
Thanks!
They’re cut outs of the banner image (sans text). Some are flipped upside down for varying texture.