All in all, it was a monster of a machine. Despite having been carpeted in weeds, bird dung, and blackberry bushes, it was still a beast of a tractor. The thing held it's self with an undeniable amount of pride for a pile of rusty scrap, and it made sure the whole world knew it too. And underneath the chipped paint and punctured tires, it was an impressive tractor- more or less the sort of thing that either made you shudder in disgust or made you fall to your knees in awe. I was not the sort to grimace in horror at rust and old oil stains. The tractor might as well have been manufactured in Atlantis or El Dorado. To me, it was a god.
And for thirty-three dollars and seventy-five cents, it was my god. My hands slid for my wallet.
Submitted to Untied Shoelaces of the Mind (R),
