The Rust Belt Carver
The factory had been closed for two years. Billy Harris knew this because he'd walked past it every morning on his way to the diner, same as he'd done for eleven years before the closure. He knew the sound of the gate when it swung shut—that particular metallic groan, low and reluctant, like a man who didn't want to go to bed. He knew the smell of the place even from the street, a faint odor of...
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