Orrin
morro bay pontiac
On those days when the implacable wind has left the tree naked of everything but its dignity, when grey soggy dumpling-like clouds litter the suet-colored sky, when the air feels weirdly heavy and sodden and tastes like stale milk on a coffee-scalded tongue, when the cries of gulls and terns wheeling crabbily overhead sound petulant and fretful as if they’d napped too long and awoke grumpy–on those days when life clumps about you like damp ill-fitting clothes, nothing is so welcome as the unexpected orange-ness of a hubcap on a 1961 Pontiac in a parking lot in Morro Bay.
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