Did someone say Trucker?

The muddy amber light in a shape of a round-edged square flashed through my windscreen as I waited at the signal. The rusted wood-metal body of the weathered truck stood in front of me, its tattered tires still on the tar of the drain-water polished road, blocking my view of the signal lights. Slightly irriatated, I turned my car a little to the left and could see the hanging digital clock counting down to green. The blazing red of the signal glowed hopelessly as the santros marutis optras civics of the civilized world nochalantly turned right and moved on, on the lawless road.

I couldn't see what stood ahead of the truck. I was almost certain that there was some sensible head inside a car that blocked that truck's way, which otherwise would most certainly have jumped the alternating sequence of indifferent colours.

And then the truck moved. As it turned right, I looked ahead and realized that nothing was blocking its way. All this while, the truck judiciously had followed the traffic rule at signal that many of my colleagues gleefully jumped. And then, a naked black body rotating a black wheel while sitting high above the optras and civics faded into the the black of the night, away from civilized headlights as the truck took another turn, onto a path less travelled.

Yes, he could. But many of us couldn't. Because civilization is not about what you sit inside. It's about what sits inside you!