Thomas sat back in the wooden rocking chair, creaking on the ratty boards that Chris said needed replacing on the front porch. “Chris? You ever thought that at this very moment, there is a Cheetos truck driving down the interstate towards the Gulf of Mexico?” Tipping back the can, he swallowed the last Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, crushing it in his wrinkled hand. Next to the rocking chair sat the cooler of beer. Most of the ice had melted on the sweltering summer day. It wasn’t all that hot, not with the cool breeze coming from Lake Michigan. “I figure you could get a nice chunk of change stealing that Cheetos truck.”  

“Tom,” Chris leaned over the cooler, snatching one of three remaining beers, “Your theory is ridiculous.” Cracking open the beer, Chris took a sip and looked back at Thomas. “Wait. What did you say?”  

“I said, I’d bet you could get a nice chunk of change stealing one of those Cheetos trucks. What’s wrong with that? You think that’s a problem?”  

Chris looked around for another chair, eyeing his old friend. “No chair?” Thomas shrugged, smirking.  

“Why would I have a chair for you, you old coot.” He pointed off the porch, at the bottom of the stairs, at a second rocker. The wood was smooth from years of rocking, glued tight, and screwed together with the craftsman that only the Amish could perfect. Good thing, too, because that’s precisely where Thomas’ rocker came from. The two he owned were traded for the work he helped his neighbors with. Jeddidiah insisted on giving him four rockers, but Thomas only took took. They were weatherbeaten and faded from years of being outside on the front porch. Still, they were more sturdy years after their construction. Neither man would know how that worked, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was Chris, if he wanted to sit, would have to go down the six steps to get it. “You can bring it on up here and sit a spell.” Then he pointed at Chris and the open beer in his hand. “And drink my beer, I suppose.”  

Chris sighed, knowing there wasn’t a winner here except Thomas. And he hated that. “Fine,” Chris said through clenched teeth. Hearing the stairs creak made Chris uncomfortable, because he helped Thomas build this porch more than forty years ago. It stood up in the outside elements for two reasons: one, they bought the lumber from the Amish, specifically from Jeddidiah, and two, Jeddidiah helped them build it. Not that Chris and Thomas didn’t work, they did. Jeddidiah made sure of that. But even back then, Thomas whined about the Cheetos trucks. Even though the construction was solid, Chris was still creeped out at the prospect of potentially falling through one of the old boards. Almost as old as the two men.  

“You best be careful with that rocker. It’s Amish made, you know.” Thomas smirked, knowing that Chris knew that. It was more fun to rub it in his face. Thomas sipped the beer, watching his friend struggle to bring the chair up the six steps. Heavy-made construction, solid oak or some other hardwood, made it less than light. Chris was coated in sweat when he got the chair on the porch, a few feet from Thomas.  

“I know that,” Chris said, plopping down the chair, hearing the decking creak again. “I thought you said you were gonna get Jeddidiah’s kids out here to fix the deck.” 

“That would mean talking to him, Chris. Think I’m gonna do that after the last time?”  

“No. I suppose not. But it ain’t gonna last forever, old man. Gotta do something with it. What’s your plan?”  

“I told you,” he polished off the beer, crushing the can and laying it next to the six others under the rocking chair. Thomas looked out to the interstate just as a Cheetos truck drove by. “I’m gonna steal one of those,” Thomas closed one eye and pointed at the semi-truck.  

“You watch too many movies.”  

“You think I can’t do that? Can’t be all that hard.”  

“Think you can drive one of those newer semis? It’s been a bit since the last time you were behind the wheel of a big rig. And those ones?” The truck was almost out of sight, but Chris managed to squint and see the rig was a brand new all-electric long hauler. “Not sure you’d know what to do with it, ‘specially if it was an automatic! Sheesh,” Chris took a long pull from the beer. “Not sure I could drive it. Not that like. I miss the good ol’ days. When trucks were trucks. When you could smell diesel and feel the gears shifting. I’d hate that. Can’t imagine what you’d do if it was completely automatic!”  

“Drive for another forty years.” Thomas closed his eyes, laced his fingers behind his head, and rocked. “But I’m gonna steal one of those.”  

“Whatever, Tom.” Chris stood up, gathered all the beer cans under Thomas’s chair, and started to walk down the stairs. “Thanks for the beer. And don’t think that I’m gonna do it tomorrow just because I picked them up this time.”  

Thomas waved him off like he was swatting at a mosquito. “This time next week, there’s gonna be a Cheetos truck sittin’ right there,” Thomas pointed to a barren spot of dirt where there had been a giant oak tree. Years ago it got the blight and had to be chopped down, the stump ground into sawdust. It took several years for the dirt to accumulate, and nothing ever grew in that spot again. Chris said it was because Tom’s wife, Sadie, cursed that spot. Same reason the oak got the blight in the first place. Sadie died twenty-three years ago. The dirt spot would’ve been big enough to park a semi-truck on; at least, that’s what Thomas figured. “Mark my words.” 

“Consider them marked,” Chris answered, throwing the empties into the back of Thomas’ pickup truck. The tailgate used to read FORD in bold, white letters. The old farm truck had seen better days but ran like a champ. At least, that’s what Thomas kept telling himself. The truth was Thomas’s truck was on her last legs. The tires were close to being worn to the radial wires. The oil and fuel filter needed a desperate change, the truck coughing and sputtering like an asthmatic needing a breathing treatment. The carburetor was gummy, making the accelerator stick. The brakes weren’t too bad if you didn’t mind taking a few extra seconds to slow down. Thomas never drove far, his granddaughter Addy coming to get him frequently to go shopping for groceries, primarily for dinner at the local diner. She hated the food, but he loved the quiet of the place. And the coffee, which Addy refused to drink. Addy loved her grandfather but was also very concerned about his living alone. “Addy comin’ over to take you to supper?”  

“Yep. Should be here anytime.”  

“You need to tell her about your grand theft auto idea.”  

Thomas shooed him away.