The sun scorched the desert in the trailing winds of the massive machine as it barreled down what was left of the highway. Eighteen wheels and an engine of massive power, where the only sounds were the rattlings of windshields and electro-polymorphic panels that had long since lost their charge, seemingly just barely able to hold on to form the shape of what appeared to be a gas-tanker.

The most ecologically inefficient aspect of the machine was the cigar in the lips of the fat grunt in the driver's seat; farting, exhaling, and laughing merrily as he drove through the heat, unbothered by the sun that had drawn closer to the earth in the past few decades as cool air from his speed alone charged fans and coolers placed all along the massive beast.

Most everything about the semi was rigged, none of the parts were the original. Over four decades, its 'pieces' and 'parts' had simply been given upgrade after upgrade, everything from the frame to the engine. Passed down to each generation, a project that started with an ancient '85 El Camino, as represented by a toy replica of it permanently bolted down to the dash. Every detail of its origin was replicated in the mere eleven-inch long toy, even it's gas-guzzling engine and spinning rims. Though, in respect to aesthetics, was made in representation after the paint job and initial-fix up of the drivers ancestor.

The fat man kept one eye on the road, and the other on a screen hovering not an inch in front of it. So like the true trucker of the olden days, ripped from his time and simply thrown in the new with something vaguely similar that he can find comfort within, and all the new toys to exploit.

Though, at least he knew well of those toys. At least, as well as anyone could know. With so much automation after so many decades, it gets hard to tell what it was that bore the automotive progress to begin with.

All too similar to the evolution of the strange looking creature on the road, chewing at the asphalt with its three movable mandibles. Noting the truck, it tried to jump out of the way with a powerful thrust of helium and carbon-charged fuel from its rear end, fattening up with a big inhale, and shooting off as high and far as it could get with its little winglets, only to end up as an over-sized splat on the window of the over-sized vehicle. Those that studied how creatures evolved, long since gave up understanding some of the much stranger ones that slipped through their fingers. Evolving with great precision because they had to avoid human contact for so long, only to take on a form that could easily deal with the breed-happy species.

Splat the fat bug went on the windshield. Snap, crack and pop went its bones and flesh, as what pieces weren't ground against the seemingly indestructible windshield, fluttered in the wind like a pine cone's fertilized seeds, spinning back down to the earth from their great heights in the dawn of a new year and new spring.

Grumbled and with little thought to his brain, except that which was fed by the optics on his right eye, he reached towards a button that had a roughed-out sharpie etching of the words 'DONT TOUCH' beside it. Forgetting easily, he pressed the button in expectation that the electric charge that shaped the panels, would shift and simply shutter off the large creatures entrails.

The fat man was on his way to get the whole front-end repaired and renewed, as Unfortunately, like those panels, that electric charge was no longer held. Any charge given to it, and its integrity would be lost to the wind. That which stood in its way was an inch-long piece of wire, short-circuiting the charge to be sent through. Which, on that day, was an eighth of an inch too short.

Six hundred mile an hour winds came blasting through the now-vacant windshield. What pieces did remain in tact, went with the man as he was spat out the driver side door like a cumbersome zit that had gotten too large for its own existence.

Splat the fat man went on the road. Snap, crack, pop went his bones and flesh, as what pieces weren't ground against the seemingly indestructible asphalt, fluttered in the wind like the bugs wings and skin only moments before, still living just long enough to witness the destruction of an era of sweat, blood, tears and great minds very unalike his own. Yet in that last second, he felt the sorrow of all that combined. The wind pressure ripped through the truck like it had the bug. Those panels tore away and fluttered in the wind, like those pine cone seeds that were too late in the spring, landing and finding nowhere to grow as the engine was destroyed in a massive spectacle, and the mans home was equally ripped to shreds by the relentless wreckage, all as the sun beat down on the sand, asphalt, man and creature alike.