I saw the thing along the roadside among the rocks and litter.
It was a thing of the past, forgotten and neglected, and left by the roadside, in the rear-view mirror, and in the dust.
People don’t bother with things of the past anymore. They’re obsessed always seeking the next big thing.
But sometimes, a sense of nostalgia slows them down, and they stop.
They look for a bit, looking it over.
Sometimes they pick it up and call it an antique. Or a relic.
Or they leave it.
By the roadside.
In the rear-view mirror.
And in the dust.