The Wistful Show
The bell rang. Not a chime. A clatter. Iron on iron. The sound cut the air in the factory district. It was loud. It was ugly. It woke the rats in the walls. It woke the men. They stood up. They stretched. They grunted. Silas stood up. He looked at his hands. They were rough. They were red. They were stained with soot. He wiped them on his apron. The apron was white. It was no longer white. It...
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