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You ever wake up halfway through a camping trip, wrapped in someone’s arms, thinking it’s your buddy Kyle—only to realize it’s a stranger named Travis who smells like diesel and abandonment? And instead of pulling away, you just… stay. Because it’s been cold. And you haven’t felt safe since your ex left and took the dog.

Travis doesn’t say a word. Just snores like a chainsaw made of whiskey and broken promises. In the morning, he’s gone—left behind a dented can of Copenhagen and a note carved into a tree that said, “Never speak of this, cowboy.”

And you don’t. Not until years later, three divorces deep and four beers in, when your truck won’t start—except it does. Because it’s a Ford F-150. And for a second, it smells like Travis.

And you cry. Not ‘cause you’re weak. But ‘cause you remember what warmth feels like.

That’s what it’s like to drive a Ford F-150.