John scratched at his whiskered cheeks with his right hand as he studied the church. His narrowed eyes darted about as he looked it over, up and down. 
“We’ll worry about the church later,” he said, turning around to Florence,”let’s gather up all that we can essential-wise. Let’s try that 
mini-mart first. Be good and I’ll take you to the bookstore.”

     John headed down the street to the left, stepping off the pavement onto the narrow sidewalk on the left side of the street. He casually looked to his right as he walked, and noticed the rusted and battered pickup truck parked on the curb parallel to the sidewalk on which he walked. The truck was a rusty brown, and had a rather thick frame and broad front and rear bumpers. John imagined it had been quite a decent vehicle before. Back then.

     He looked back at Florence again as he walked, and as he turned back around said,”Man, I do miss my pickup truck. I tell you Flo, if I had that rough rider we wouldn’t have to walk anywhere. Hard enough to find a reliable vehicle back then, damn nigh’ impossible when all the dealerships are permanently closed.”