The laughter followed Ethan Miller across the gravel parking lot.
He heard it behind him as he walked toward his old pickup, but he refused to turn around.
He had learned a long time ago that there were some things a man could survive simply by refusing to give them his attention.
The pickup waited beneath the Nebraska sun.
It was a faded blue Ford with rust spreading along the bottom edges of both doors. One headlight was slightly cloudy. The driver's seat had been repaired twice with silver duct tape, and the rear bumper sagged on one side.
The truck wasn't impressive.
Apparently, neither was the man driving it.
Ethan opened the door and climbed inside.
He placed both hands on the steering wheel but didn't start the engine.
For a moment, he simply stared through the windshield.
Thirty yards away stood the reason he had come to the dealership.
A John Deere 8100.
Its green paint gleamed beneath the March sunlight. The rear tires were almost as tall as Ethan's shoulders. The engine was strong enough to pull his twelve-row planter without struggling.
It was exactly what the Miller farm needed.
It was also $42,000.
Ethan had spent three weeks looking at machines.
He had checked auctions.
Called private sellers.
Inspected tractors with cracked blocks and worn transmissions.
He had calculated fuel consumption, repair costs, horsepower, hydraulic capacity and resale value.
The 8100 wasn't perfect.
But it was reliable.
More importantly, Ethan knew how to repair most of it himself.
He had walked into the dealership that morning carrying a folder containing his farm's financial records.
He wasn't there to ask for a favor.
He wasn't there to impress anyone.
He was there to buy a machine.
The sales manager had looked at the folder.
Then at Ethan.
Then at his truck through the showroom window.
“You farming much land?” the man had asked.
“About four hundred acres.”
The manager had raised his eyebrows.
“Four hundred?”
“Yes.”
“Family farm?”
“Yes.”
The manager had smiled politely.
“That's a lot of ground for a setup like yours.”
Ethan knew exactly what that meant.
He had heard variations of it his entire life.
A setup like yours.
A truck like yours.
A farm like yours.
A man like you.
The manager had walked him toward the tractor but never really treated him like a serious buyer.
He had talked about financing before Ethan asked.
He had suggested cheaper models.
Then, when Ethan said he wanted the 8100, the manager had laughed.
Not loudly.
Not openly.
Just enough.
One of the younger salesmen joined them.
“Cash or financing?”
“I'm still deciding.”
The salesman glanced at Ethan's boots.
“Probably financing.”
Ethan had looked at him.
“No.”
The salesman laughed.
That was when Ethan understood.
They had already decided what he was.
Poor.
Small.
Unimportant.
Not the kind of farmer who bought $42,000 tractors.
Eventually, the manager had said,
“If you're looking for something cheaper, we have a few machines over at the auction lot.”
Ethan had nodded.
“Thanks.”
He had walked away.
The laughter followed him.
Now, sitting inside his truck, Ethan finally started the engine.
The old Ford coughed twice before settling into its familiar rumble.
He put it into gear.
As he pulled away, the sales manager stepped outside.
“Good luck at the farm auction!”
The men laughed again.
Ethan kept driving.
He didn't look back.
The dealership disappeared behind him.
The highway opened ahead.
It was March of 2016.
Planting season was only weeks away.