This truck looks like it retired before I was born.

The truck stood there like an aging storyteller, its rusted frame bearing witness to years of labor and neglect. Its grille seemed to grin faintly in defiance of time. I walked around it, imagining the hands that once steered it through the dust-laden roads of this mining town. The sunlight bounced off its dented hood, casting shadows that almost seemed alive. A second vehicle lingered farther down the road—another relic left behind as if part of some forgotten parade. The air was still except for the occasional rustle of leaves, as if even nature paused to honor these remnants of human endeavor. Somewhere nearby, I could hear the faint hum of machinery—a reminder that while these trucks had ceased their journey, the work they once served continued in other forms.