Greaves of Fallen Oaks - rambling in a fleetside Chevrolet- thru the mud- I've got nothing- near the Res- a thousand eyes he feels on his shoulders- but the tires are bad and there are twenty five empty beer cans in the bed- he's cold - but the bed will be warm -the trailer has no lights on but one- a cow bleats as the truck rolls up- he honks-