Meet me in Montauk.– Clementine Kruczynski
Let’s ride in a wagon, not a Red-Flyer, just a beat-up station wagon. With it’s wood-paneled sides, the paint chipping off, at least the interior is so worn yet so soft. The edges are rusted, and the sides dented in. The tires are fine, but they’re missing a rim. The color is faded, all worn out from sun. HEY! I don’t mind if I look like a bum.