He could hear the voices of the three men sitting near their little farm truck.
A few cars and farm trucks were going up and down the street, but not many.
Which still left the matter of a farm truck.
A farm truck passed him, stopped and the driver, a man in his sixties, looked out.
Nothing passed them going the other way, not even a farm truck.
Vega had stolen a farm truck big enough for their needs.
Twice, they passed farm trucks going in the other direction, and once a sedan.
Only problem being, most of the damned bridges were designed for farm trucks.
The young man and his father sit on the running board of the family's stakesided farm truck.
I could see local farm trucks rattling in and out.
