In all of The Village there was one vehicle for sale. A nineteen ninety-one half ton pick-up sat two blocks away from Jack’s house on the brown grass of a front yard. It had been for sale for a month or more. The price was well within Jack’s meager budget. The truck’s three hundred cubic inch straight six-cylinder engine ran fine. The bed of the truck was rusted through. The clear coat had all but flaked away leaving behind a brown finish that looked more like a primer coat than the high gloss paint that had once been displayed. Jack had seen the old pick-up around town his whole life it had not been mistreated. Jack and his father had taken the pick-up truck for a test drive. They had sat on top of the holes in the worn seats. The transmission shifted at the proper times. The blinkers worked. The air conditioner blew fresh, hot air and the radio in the dash of the old truck was capable of producing a high volume of static. All in all it was a good, sturdy, dependable means of transportation – the pick-up version of Jack’s red bike. Bakersfield, the town thirty miles from The Village, had hundreds of cars for sale, thousands of cars; Jack had a list of fifteen cars that sounded like they would meet his needs, be in his budget, and perhaps not make him the butt of all his friends’ jokes. After the newness wore off, after he had ploughed back and forth across Toby’s field for two hours or more Jack’s thoughts turned to which of the fifteen cars would be most likely to be accepted by Ellen as a proper means to get to school and back. He just thought about how pretty Ellen is for a while as he tried to keep the little tractor going fast enough to stay ahead of the dust he was creating. He went over each of the classes he was signed up for while wiping away sweat caused by the one hundred degree plus day. Before dusk and before the field was completely ploughed he ran out of things to think about and just mindlessly followed the front wheels of the tractor back and forth across the field. As the sun set Jack parked the tractor with the plow still connected in its place next to the barn, let the diesel motor idle down and then pulled the knob that shut off the fuel. The first silence he had heard since lunch rang in his ears. By the time his old bicycle hit the oak tree in his front yard Jack was well on his way to a hot shower and a long rest that would last until time to head back to Uncle’s farm.