Truck love

I tend to treadmill in the evening.  On the weekend, I walk during the day, and my treadmill faces the car wash.
I watched three men buff their trucks.  It was the damndest thing.
They were different ethnicities.  Two white trucks and one dark blue.  And they were polishing the hell out of these inanimate objects.
It tickled me.
Not going to lie.  I didn't understand it.  But I had to respect the commitment.
Then I began to wonder...are they like this with all facets of their lives?  Do they polish their relationships with friends/spouses/children?
I found it fascinating.
Or were they simply showering their love on this machine that didn't give two shits about them?
Was it all for show?  Was it pride?  Something else?
I wanted nothing more to swim in their heads and pluck out the answers.

I wanted their STORIES.
And I wanted them badly.

Did they grow up poor with old automobiles?  Did they procure a dream job that allowed them to have the truck of their fantasies?  Were they like male birds preening and polishing to attract a mate?

I never found out, of course.
It's a pity.

But I think that I'll file that away for another day and another story of my making.
Everything is fodder, dear ones.
Everything.
Grins*