The third-generation C/K (the one through most of the’70s and ’80s) might be the best truck. And while it is certainly the most truck, we’re here today to discuss all of the Chevy trucks, or most of the Chevy trucks, like that good-looking young person up top, which might have, in fact, been Chevy’s last decent-looking truck.
What, are you really going to tell me that this was an improvement? This is a truck that knows that it’s on the wrong side of things.
This truck’s formerly chiseled frame has now become flabby, and it isn’t completely sure why. It thinks it still looks good but it’s smart enough to know that may just be a self-deception. It was. It was one of many to come.
Its grip on reality quickly fading, the truck slowly but surely began to lose all idea of who it was. It was approaching midlife, and it neither looked tough, nor, in its bones, knew its identity. And, huh, this weight really does keep on coming.
It would only get much worse, as the hair in its ears suddenly needed trimming. It wore a suit to work, but it wasn’t sure why. It increasingly thought that way about a lot of things. Why are we here? What, in fact, is the point of all this?
Because at this point the truck had begun to descend into utter madness, as it accumulated ever more possessions and rarely left the house. Its hair was too long, its beard unruly. It wore too many layers for no discernible reason.
Now unable to work, it spends its days drinking and scaring people. The few times it speaks up only unintelligible mumbling emerges or, if words do emerge, they come too quickly and with too much volume. It has almost completely forgotten what it used to be, a quite handsome young man with a bright future. It only vaguely remembers those days way back yonder, when life was simple and its accumulated trauma and baggage were not so immense.
The truck only begs to be useful again. But, alas, it knows its time has come and gone. And so instead it looks back on pictures of the old days.
And sometimes smiles.