“My father is coming for it.”

Arthur could keep the old truck.

He needed the rusted metal to look at, and I didn’t need the two hundred thousand miles of memories that came with it.

It was his prize for fifteen years of doubting me.

The moving crew tightened thick yellow straps over the green paint of my baler.

I watched the heavy treads of their boots pack the driveway dirt completely flat.

They worked fast, knowing the developer’s demolition crew was scheduled for Tuesday.