Coincidence, I guess not. Old me seems to like old everything else. I like the character of old things and the story they tell. If I don’t know their story I wonder about them every time I drive by, occasionally making one up along the way.
This little beaute greets me as I travel down highway 78 on my way to Summerville. Depending on the time of day, the doorway lights up as the sun shines through a hole in the roof.
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