Stranger From Indy

You were trained to be independent. To avoid strangers if you can. but you had a flat tire so flagged down a man. He pulls up in a rusted-out truck. His hands are strong and filthy with dried mud. He says fewer words than a haiku poem. Like an Indy pit crew, he's done in no time...flat. You broke rules-rolled the dice and survived. The tire is on, your hands remain clear of the grime.