I can picture the scene: You walking around snapping photos, and a young man strolls out, thumbs in cargo-shorts pockets. (Has to kinda bend down to reach- pockets don't ride so high in some circles these days).

“That there’s a tribute to my uncle. He spent years collecting all the parts. Got that tailgate off a feller come through with the carnival coupla’ years back.” "Had the Bill o' Sale 'n everything!"

“Yeah, he’d been talkin’ for a while ‘bout findin’ a place to work on it when he had his huntin’ accident- mebe you heard about it- one ‘a those things really- nobody’s fault.” “Leastways, my aunt didn’t wanna press charges- family & all…”

“Anyhow, I got to talkin’ with her ‘bout it at the funeral, and she said I could have it if I’d get the whole mess outta her front yard. Said it was hard to mow ‘round.” “Said she’d pro’ly plant flowers there, seein’ as how the grass is all dead.” “Guess that’ll be her way of rememberin’ him…”

“So anyways, me an’ my buddy worked on it nights, weekends, vacations ‘n such.” “Wou’n’t take a mayun dollars for ‘t now…”