This old car on blocks jogs a memory of my dad, faint and faded. A path, lush vegetation all around. A car on blocks, we squeeze around then burst into the front yard of a huge ramshackle house. Everything seems big in this memory because I am small. My dad has come here to buy a car. I mine this memory with my adult eye (I have so few memories of my estranged father). I cannot find any more detail to remember. And this is where I begin to invent.
