At this precise moment, I am a weather-beaten train wheel. Once a glorified piece of work that served its purpose (?), but now a fading marvel ready for mounting on the wall or perhaps a glass enclave in a train museum of some sort.
Then again, in my world, I am a weather-beaten train wheel with limbs for walking, tongue for speaking and mind for thinking. I may hail from a generic man-made ingenuity, but I am like no other weather-beaten train wheel. With my limbs I need only to grab, a few tools and perhaps walk under pouring rain of grease and oil to rejuvenate my weary bones.
Like a weather-beaten train wheel, I get stuck once in a while. Momentarily useless at times. But still, eternally valuable.