My clutch wasn't working right so I took it to this little transmission shop that a friend had recommended. My car's always making some kinda' funny noise and I'm not a car person so I don't know what the noises mean.
The shop is small, dark and messy and they may take a little longer getting your car back to you, but I trust the mechanics there for some reason. Sometimes I think that once in awhile you should trust a shop like that because it seems normal. What I mean is, that it reflects real life. Most of the time life is dark and messy and the people that look funky with jail tatoos on their neck and gold chains are actually the ones looking out for you. Once in awhile it's the shop that's perfect, that has all it's individual tools hanging on their assigned hooks and in their drawers, no oil on the floor and a pretty receptionist, that makes me suspicious. Like a televangelist.
So, I was waiting outside this little transmission shop, waiting out on the sidewalk watching the cars go by and I noticed the cememtary across the street. I've passed this cemetary dozens of times; actually my ex-girlfriend used to hold her breath when we would drive by it because it has big old tombstones and she was always afraid of spirits or something entering her body through her mouth and nose.
It was close to five o'clock in the evening and I was watching this cemetary across the street and I noticed that all the tall, ornate, old tombstones all faced west, directly into the setting sun. Into the fading light. That's pretty interesting. I wonder if the folks that first plotted out that little cemetery planned that.
3 comments:
i know which cemetary you're talking about. the one along coast highway, right?
the one next to the bike shop, yep.
by the way, cool post. i wont look at that cemetary without thinking about the direction they face. hmmm.
that had to be intentional.
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