five acres and one tree

I met a man in Northern California.

He was selling a truck. I was thinking about buying the truck. He and his brother had sort of a reputation. They were older men, who had caroused a lot. They had creased hands and faces full of extra years to prove it.

In a small town, whether you carouse still or not, you carry that reputation. I think those two brothers still caroused plenty though. Which made me a little leary of him but he was nice enough. And I suspect planning on really robbing me on that truck deal. But he told me a story.

He was teaching his daughter to drive. When she was about the age I was then — which was pretty damn young to be buying a truck and you could tell he was thinking that. In a truck much like the truck I was testing. [Myself I was surprised to know one of the brothers had a daughter. How did that happen? Oh. Wait. Carousing.] And he took her out to a big pasture. This was the country so big pasture means big pasture. Acres big. And in this pasture there was one tree. Acres of pasture and one tree.

She hit the tree. You saw that coming right?

I did not buy that truck.