Aaron’s truck and my car have just about nothing in common. My 2004 Volkswagen Jetta is a sluggish hunk of steel, its fenders cracked by fellow students who don’t care enough to stick around. A vehicle void of accidents, yet looking like a childs forgotten toy. Soda cans pile up in the back. To my friends, my mode of transportation is like a jail cell for their feet. Aarons truck is like a plate old people hang in their houses, pretty to look at but never used for its intended purpose. The engine sounds screams of a man in an Xbox party after getting 2nd place. My sedan cruises down the road as his truck rips down the highway.

Aarons truck is a new pair of shoes, a long lost hat you never even took the tags off. My car is the sight of a rabid dog invading a small town. When someone says to my cousin he should trade truck for car, he can’t complete a thought without showing something off about how his truck is superior to any other vehicle on this earth. He dubs diesel the champion of all fuels.