A (short) Short Story

The sunflower seeds, as always, lay scattered on the worn down, torn-up, red leather passenger seat, basking in their parents' namesake. They were reflected in the extra-long mirror on the right side of the eighteen-wheeler, and a tattooed hand reached down to pull a handful out of the bag while an expert spit blew a mouthful of shells out the window. Concerned parents would have followed the trucks with shrill protestations, had such people known about the drag races--but they didn't. For these two men, it was just a long stretch of beaten-down highway and a tradition formed through long beaten-down years.

     Bill stepped out of his truck first, as custom dictated, walking away from the faded black lettering on his trailer.
     "Name your terms," he said gruffly to Neil. Only the laugh in his eyes granted any softness to the words. Neil leaned out of his window from the high red seat. "And you have sunflower seeds in your beard."
     "Watch yer' attitude," replied Neil, brushing away the shells nevertheless. Gesturing, he pointed to a familiar sign a mile away. "I beat you again, you pay for burgers down at Lou's the next time we're in Springfield. Burgers and coffees and a bag of sunflower seeds for me."
     "Coffee and the seeds."
     "Burger, one coffee, seeds."
     "No coffee, seeds, and a burger."
     "Done."
     They shook. Neil spit. Bill climbed back into the eighteen-wheeler and started the engine in a small cloud of grey smoke. Neil did the same amidst some suspicious clanging that he never got around to fixing. By now, the didn't need to count out loud with blasts of the deep truck horn; each knew when the other would start.
     Three, two, one. Go.