Misplaced

Our next door neighbor works on cars. He loves working on cars, as many people do. Of course, he doesn't limit it to cars. He drives a large Dodge pickup with a huge tow hitch and a lumber rack. He modified both the Dodge (and at least one of its predecessors) and their family Jetta to take biodiesel. As a contractor, the Dodge comes in handy, but he also owns at least a couple of other vehicles, including a dump truck and a little bobcat. We often joke when he shows up with something new. Yesterday, when we came home there was a big-rig tractor in front of his house, with the hood open. A new toy? No, he's just helping a friend work on it.

Around 10:30 last night, as Dawn, Darryl & I were finishing watching something we heard the loud clang of a large piece of metal falling on the ground. I said "Good night, X", and went out to tease him about it.

He commented that he hoped the truck wasn't as loud as his (the aforementioned Dodge, which can typically be heard from at least a block away), to which I replied that I couldn't imagine that hope being anything but badly misplaced.