Missing My Truck

My truck is my best friend.

It’s been in the shop for almost a week and a half, getting new engine parts, and I miss it terribly.

My truck doesn’t care what I look like. Same with computers: they don’t have ego demands around having a thin, beautiful owner.

My truck is there, 24×7, to help me when I need it. It asks nothing in return besides maintenance and gas. Doesn’t care how flat my stomach is or how much I weigh or whether I compare favorably to old operators. It doesn’t pine for them, correspond with them or “friend” them on Facebook.

When the truck comes back, I’ll have to do something nice for it.