Freddy and Ivan's Truck

Ivan shifted gears, beeped merrily, and drove away. Freddy was bent double, head almost between his knees. He held up a hand but went on panting. The truck had left behind an exaggerated silence in which I could hear the clutch and rasp of every breath he took. It sounded like hard work, hard and lonely. When I moved toward him, he waved me off. Clark picked up a stick and began scraping his sneakers. This seemed an optimistic project caked as he was to the eyeballs; he went about it with method and gravity.