The truck wasn't particularly appealing. The paint had peeled a long time ago. Reveals patches of rust, similar to old wounds. Its engine coughed in the morning, grumbled all day. At dusk, he would occasionally sigh into silence. The windows were hazy. The seat was torn in places, showing that it had been used for a very long time. Like too many long used and has been spilled coffee.
It wasn't fast. It wasn't a easy process. But it never rufuse to start. Either it's raining or there's heat, there's mud or there's gravel, It moves with the aim of proving something. People gawked and murmured things. Why not replace it? Why cling on to something so worn?
However, the hands that held the wheel. knew every sound. Every rattle, every obstinate turn. It had transported more than just freight. It had held moments. Late nights. Heavy loads. Silent highways. It was ugly, yes, But it was honest. And with that sincerity Was a kind of beauty No showroom can provide that.