Stay with us here; it’s like this:

The chaff is flying in the sun-drenched air. The truck’s suspension recoils slowly—like a woman walking away. Sweat seeps through the man’s white t-shirt in a perfect V. He looks past the camera, dragging the back of a dirty wrist across his forehead. His grin is laced with the wince of hard days. In this fantasy, you are either the man or the one he’s thinking about.

Us? We’re the beer he’s drinking.