The Distant Summer
The coal dust had worked its way into the creases of Elias Thorne’s knuckles, a permanent grey stain that no amount of scrubbing with lye soap could lift. He stood in the queue for the time clock, the iron mechanism ticking with a heavy, industrial rhythm that marked out the seconds of his life in increments of wages. Behind him, the line of men stretched back toward the loading dock, their...
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