Smartystan

When the trucks had done their dance on the superhighway connection, Felton Sheltham knew he had to locate his soul. Though he no longer sat in the driver’s seat, the constant tug at his mind persisted. The work, on the surface, seemed easy. He relished it. But at the same time the labor proved to be intensive and even grueling at times. His large hands which gripped steering wheels in the past now became second to his brain chip which governed the various vehicles. The man who owned the trucking company wanted to meet Sheltham in person. He had taken notice of the man’s resolve and unyielding integrity. Sheltham had been called to the c-suite and sat at a chair in the glass enclosed room.