Exhaust Down the country road I witnessed a lengthy cordial visit. An older man was gabbing colorfully with the farmer’s daughter, an independent woman who tended the horses. His worn parked truck was still running when I walked past them a second time, having circled back. The man’s desperate smile stuck clinging to the memory of a younger chassis— was no less taken by the farmer’s daughter, who feigned interest, nodded mechanically. But several minutes had elapsed, exhaust billowing in...
