A white Studebaker champion on a city street.

its chrome soft under the glow of streetlights. There’s something tender about how it occupies the space—like it isn’t abandoned, just waiting. The Route 66 plate adds an almost cinematic nod to the great American mythos: open roads, neon nights, diners that never close.

The moon hangs low, cradled in the branches like a fragile ornament. It gives the sky a sense of depth that’s easy to miss when you’re moving too fast.

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