The Factory That Sometimes Exists
The Factory That Sometimes ExistsThe junkyard smells like rust. Not the clean, metallic smell of new rust—the wet, sour smell of old rust, the kind that has been sitting in the rain for twenty years and absorbed everything the rain has brought with it. I stand in the middle of it every day, sorting metal from metal, steel from aluminum, copper from whatever-the-hell-that-is, and I think about...
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