10min Creative Writing Exercise on "Betrayal"

When he first rolled up atop a clattering old engine, unhushed and breathing oil, I smelt him before I saw him. Rusty petrol fumes and stale oil moulded to his overalls. The truck was covered in a reddish dust and caked on thick like cracked clay. As it rattled to a standstill, dust huffed around it - a cloud of orange puff on a still day, just sitting in the air. "It's choking the birds" I thought.
As he clambered down from his rig, I noticed his belt buckle glisten through the dusty haze. He stopped, stretched his back arching backwards, spat twice - once on the ground then on his sleeve - and rubbed the number plate clean. "Betrayal" it read, shining out across the entrance to the store - my store. "Julie's Veil".
We sold bits and bobs and everything a man'd need when passing through, been on the highway for days in a passing haze and getting crazy as the lazy belly hangs loose over his fly, sweat in his eyes and the rig groaning and grunting, shuddering like a stuck pig.
Not many pass through but when they do, they find what they're looking for - if you know what I mean. Not always the cleanest or leanest but I'll get their rig to glisten, and listen for a while, and smile. And may never see them again.
Some die on these roads, most live. I just am.
Am here.
Going nowhere slowly.