“There it is!” exclaimed Danny as he and his brothers jogged to the rusted, hunk of metal unnaturally gracing the forest floor deep in the woods.

“How’d it get here?” wondered Peter, the oldest.
“Maybe it drove itself!” suggested little Benji.
“Cars can’t drive themselves!” scoffed Danny. “Let’s play inside!”
The boys inspected the interior for wetness and critters, then climbed inside to play. First they pretended to be outlaws, running from the cops and hiding until a great showdown with loads of ammo and big guns ended in the cop’s defeat. Then they pretended to drive for miles, seeking exotic terrains, animals, peoples, and adventures. They made it their clubhouse, vowing never to show anyone else. They made up passwords and secret handshakes to get in. They tried to cover it in branches and promised it they would build it a garage before going home for dinner.
It was to be a memory they would never forget. A time of innocence and imagination they would look back on fondly.