It’s a secret keeper, a memory gatherer, a hobbyist’s dream. It's a relic, and an antique, a badge of honor. It’s the color of freedom and back roads, a deep rusted orange. As the paint chips flake off, memories scatter like marbles - road trips through dusty and desolate  trails, sticky sweet cuddles, inky black nights punctuated by the occasional shooting star. Memories of koosh balls lost and found, mud patty tea parties, and doll houses built entirely from rocks. It has had many uses in its lifetime - a four-wheeler, a tent, a companion - parts replaced, holes repaired, paint re-touched.

Chairs with stuffing spilling out swapped for crisp, black seats. Threadbare tires tossed and replaced by impostors as high as your waist. Engine parts traded out and gear shafts traded up. The sentinel of the past catapulted to the present. A legacy passed down to the next generation to collect new secrets - store them in its stitching, smash them deep down in the grooves of the tires.