Growing up on a farm, I appreciated trucks. We always had at least one, and sometimes many. They were very utilitarian and never got washed or cleaned out on the inside. They smelled of the last place they had been, and I always loved riding around in them with my Dad. I spotted this truck during a trip to Italy. It certainly had seen better days, being dented and rusty. I loved how the light played along the front door with the nose stuck in shadow. I also loved how it was parked right on the narrow street/sidewalk without any regard for people that might want to walk there. In my eyes, it was a beautiful beast.