Early mornings down at Pier 8 with a 68 Camaro RS/SS. These are the parts of this city we love. The parts that are only beautiful if you're really, truly looking. The parts where day-trippers seldom visit. The outskirts. The gems. The endangered nooks and crannies. The parts caked with grit. These are the parts of the city that define it. These are the parts of this city we love.
Here's to the free spirits. Here’s to the ones who never look back. To the ones in the left lane. Here’s to those who pin the throttle and those with a heavy foot. Here’s to those who drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested.
Find your fellow rebel. Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, but it’s better to be killed by a lover.
The true test of a machine is not whether it works or not. But how it makes us feel. We shape our machines, and then our machines shape us. We become what we behold. Drive tastefully. Live tastefully.
Live, explore and stop to think, but not for long. However convenient the dwelling may be, don’t stop here for long. However shelter’d the port and however calm the waters you must not anchor here. Listen to others and consider well what they say. Pause, search, receive, contemplate. But don’t stop for long.
Life is just too short to drink bad coffee. Time is swift. The present becomes the past while we're busy trying to define it. Like a flash of lightning, it exists and expires at once. We are left only with the taste lingering on our tongues. Make it count.
ALL PICTURES BY ALLAN GLANFIELD | BLACKBURN AND FOSTER