GHOSTS OF YESTERYEAR: I have never been a car enthusiast, but my camera eye cannot resist the broken down hulks discarded on sleepy country roads, on desert farms where the sun catches every lonely glimpse. Wherever the fates have abandoned them, there is something inherently ghostly about each of these broken down angels. At one time they were probably some kid's pride and joy – a casual ride on a random Saturday night. There was nothing complex about these vehicles. They came from a simpler time. You fired the ignition and went wherever that gas guzzler could bring you. If a part fell off, you went to the salvage yard and found a replacement. Yup. Each bucket of bolts has a thousand tales to tell, yet only her odometer smiles at the secret. Most will never run again. They are weather beaten and beyond repair, ancient relics of a time soon forgotten... but oh what lovely photos they make.