The driver in the tiny fiat was bloody scared as the steam engine tractor pulled up behind her at the traffic lights. So much so that she started edging forward. As the unslowing rumble got closer and closer to her bumper she floored the accelerator – her panicked mind making her think that chancing her luck with oncoming traffic was better than with the massive bulk of vintage machinery. She was unquestionably right.
“Yeeeeeeeeeee haaaa!”, yelled Missie as they roared over the chaotic junction, cars breaking and skidding all around her; drivers careful not to shout abuse til they thought that they were safe. Stoking the fire was a rather warm gentleman wearing a squat top hat, gauntlet gloves, heavy boots, and manky thick trousers; his back was gleaming with sweat as he shoveled. His rather eccentric twisted moustache was not half as crazy as his plan to road trip east to west with his 10 ton monster; and even that was nothing… the Moriarty & Son Esquire Established 1875 engine was being driven by Missie.