Self-portrait as a truck

The days are long but the nights are longer. The cows are my only companions. I don’t think they like me. They look at me like an

interloper, a stranger in the local watering hole. I suppose I am one.

My driver counts for something, I suppose, and the cargo too, but really, they’re a part of myself so. There you are. Though I suppose you is just me, honking to myself, lowing to the indifferent moon.