The Things That Endure
I was hammered from steel in Pittsburgh, 1887, and carried on a man's hand for forty years before becoming part of this train. My surface knows the texture of human palms better than I know my own dimensions. I have been gripped, leaned upon, pushed, and pulled. The palm that holds me now belongs to a man whose arthritis has turned my metal smooth in places where his knuckles rest. He grips me...
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