“They don’t make ’em like they used to,” the old man said with a grin. And deep down I knew he was right. Back then, things were more simple. People were more simple. Life was more simple. And some things seemed to last forever. It was a time when summer meant riding bikes, playing in puddles, fishing in streams, and smelling fresh laundry as it blew in the breeze. It was when simple meant a stick shift and a single cab with a bench seat.
Simple is always being able to just jump in, turn the key and go. Simple is that old, faithful truck that always starts and whisks you away in the blink of an eye.