Walking in Pantelimon today, I saw a square body Moskvitch 1500 for the first time. A slightly mismatched paint job and mal-aligned engine hood revealed to the careful onlooker that the car had once been wrecked.

I walked around it a few times, noting its’ detail and pinpointing flaws while three meters away a short little man well into his seventies cast his eagle eyes upon the behavioral details and my unusual pause.

Only after I felt I was being I watched did I really take note of him. Before that moment, he had been merely an anonymous shape in the unfocused landscape. Leaning back against a metal fence and whiling away the time with not a single task to attend to. One seemingly unconsequential blur from a myriad of cinematic extras populating the şoseaua that served as set.

I looked up and our eyes met. His were twinkling with an amusement over my curiosity.

“Ti-place maşina asta?”

“Da. Cred ca e rar.”

And our sudden conservation began with him sharing the details of when he had first purchased the car…

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