A tractor wobbled down the village road, the driver clenching a pipe between his teeth. While controlling the steering wheel with both hands, his cheeks puffed and shrank, matching the rhythm of smoke puffing from both his nose and the engine.
Occasionally, he'd pass villagers heading home with farming tools after finishing fieldwork. When they waved and called him "Big Smoking Gun," he'd respond with a lukewarm nod, putting on airs more than the mayor inspecting the countryside.
Big Smoking Gun was lazy since childhood. During the times when the brigade earned work points, he often slacked off, earning less by year-end than a new mother did with her newborn.
Back then, his parents supported him. They toiled bitterly, nurturing their unruly son and even arranged a marriage for him with a widow.
But soon after he had a son, his parents fell ill and died, and without their labor, life became unsustainable.
