Driving Home a Point

today his pickup has made its point, seems no place and time, no weather can be more apt for that purpose than this wet, sloping dirt-road bend right smack in the muddy middle of a desolate cornfield somewhere in the heart of a lightning-lit night, right in the eye of a nasty storm; a few minutes ago, it roared, but then it wouldn't move an inch; its engine faltered, missed two beats, whimpered and then finally died; drenched in rain and desperation, he works the clutch and battery as he tries to coax back to life the ignition, but all to no avail; he gets out fuming mad, cursing, slams the steel door, slushes away in the soft mud, shivers in the rain, glancing back, he sees his pickup sitting on its shadow, chuckling, seems to him with malice, gloating, triumphant in its metallic conviction that it has driven home a hard point !