Resting Place

My poor old ’99 Impreza hadn’t had any TLC for thousands and thousands of miles. It was starting to complain to me.  It whined when I cranked the wheel to pull away from the curb. It slammed its wipers into the hood with every wipe. It stubbornly plodded when I tried to spur it on.

So, on a drizzly bay morning before work last week, I dropped it off for servicing in west Berkeley. Unfortunately, my bike doesn’t quite fit in the little guy, so after running down the list of complaints to the service manager, I left on foot. I missed the Ashby Ave bus by seconds. Off I went on my damp, 2.5-mile walking commute through Berklandville. While I was hurrying to get to work, I decided to make the most of it and stop to shoot when necessary. Like when I came across these guys, slowly disintegrating in the urban wilderness of the East Bay. At least I got my Subaru feeling better before it came to a similar fate.