He could hear the voices of the three men sitting near their little farm truck.

A few cars and farm trucks were going up and down the street, but not many.

Which still left the matter of a farm truck.

A farm truck passed him, stopped and the driver, a man in his sixties, looked out.

Nothing passed them going the other way, not even a farm truck.

Vega had stolen a farm truck big enough for their needs.

Twice, they passed farm trucks going in the other direction, and once a sedan.

Only problem being, most of the damned bridges were designed for farm trucks.

The young man and his father sit on the running board of the family's stakesided farm truck.

I could see local farm trucks rattling in and out.