There’s just something special about the rhythm of the mill, the roar of the furnaces, the clank of metal against metal. Those days, they shaped me, molded me into the man I am today. Sure, I miss the boys, the way we’d gather after shift, share tall tales over cold ones.
Back then, we had pride in our work, in each other. No fancy degrees, just raw skill honed by years of hard labor. But time marches on, and soon enough, the suits started sending our jobs overseas. They said it was progress, but all I could see was betrayal.
Nowadays, I sometimes catch myself wistfully staring at the smoke rising from the abandoned plant, remembering the friends I lost along the way. Hell, some nights, I swear I hear the echoes of the machinery, calling me home.
I won’t lie, things have changed, and not for the better. Still, I raise a glass to the memories, to the brothers I fought alongside, knowing deep down, we’ll forever carry the fire of the mill in our hearts.
>Soulkyn