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

me. It used to mean tools on a pegboard and Grandpa’s old manuals with oil-stained covers and the possibility of something being made or fixed. Now it smelled like absence made physical.

I looked down at the concrete. The tire marks were still there, faint, the ghost of where it had sat. A pale rectangle of floor where sunlight had never reached because continue reading …