I Came Home From Overseas Expecting to See My 1969 Corvette Waiting

on the first turn. Deep and clean and completely itself.

I drove it home.

Not to my parents’ house.

To a storage facility twelve miles away, registered under my name, with a climate-controlled bay and a security code that existed in no phone but mine and no document but one I kept in a fireproof safe. I had it detailed and photographed and every piece continue reading …