This is an abandon pickup in a field, that I pass often, back and forth to the house. Mr. MacDonald had a 50s, two-tone Oldsmobile dragged into the field behind his house. He was always, it seemed, ripping parts off it as he rebuilt cars in his garage. Nights, we'd pile into the front and back seats smoke a few cigarettes, tell crazy stories, dream about girls and pretend we were the 'wild ones' racing away from the cops, while swigging on beers. It was pretty much a ritual on those warm July nights. These evenings ended violently one night, when hornets decided that under the back seat would be a pretty nice place to build a nest. We flew out of that car, stumbling and screaming. Although we later returned to 'ride' in the front seat. The rear cushions never again had occupants. Get the buzz?