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Construction workers, seemingly a job of little value, defined us and gave us importance, and was truly (in our eyes) an occupation of much more valor than anyone gave us credit for. We defined the roads, the means of travel and experience across the plains of the American landscape. All of us looked up to Slim. As the mid-day heat taxed upon our sun soaked bodies, I could look up and see Slim, just as cool as could be. He was no super-human or anything, but he exuded a strong confidence that the rest of us only dreamed of possesing. Whereas a heat-filled day of labour transformed the lot of us into stinky, sweating apes, it seemed only to add depth to Slim's character. He was truly the leader, if one had to be chosen, among us. Sometimes we worked in the seclusion of the countryside, but I had always enjoyed the fast-paced, busy environment of city construction. Occasionally, we would also get to interact with the old citizens just wanting to chat about what we were doing. Perhaps, a disgruntled motorist would angrily swear at the speed of our progression, which we all enjoyed thoroughly. Watching people squirm like that is actually quite enjoyable after torturing yourself in the sun for 40-60 hours a week. And on occasion, when pulling a city contract, we would interact with beautiful women as well. Well, not all of us, but Slim did on several occasions. It was as if women sensed his subtle brilliance, and were drawn to him like moths to a flame. But none of us ever became jealous of Slim. As we saw it, he deserved them. He was, after all, our unspoken leader. And just as moths to a flame, Slim burnt most of the women that he met. Yep, we all had a high respect for Slim. He was our leader, and more importantly, the driver of the CEMENT TRUCK. |