“Generate a random word. Search it on Google images. Tell the story of the first PHOTO you find.”
The smoke billowing from the old factory signified this evening’s shift change. The tired, dirt-covered laborers slogged out of the building (that should have condemned years ago) as a fresh batch replaced them. This ritual has been going on day in and day out without interruption for generations. Families had lineage rooted in the factory. This isn’t even a special factory. Most workers couldn’t even told you what they made. Something mundane like metal grommets or ball bearings. This factory, having broken its fair share of spirits, still had a place, a purpose in the town. It provided security, camaraderie, but most of all it provided a community. What most people see as an environment killing biproduct of the industrial age has afforded the people of this nothing town a common thread. A thread long enough to build families, best friends, first loves, and lazy summers. Although its hard to look at this bygone relic and see anything but pollution and grime, it means more to town it inhabits than even they are willing to admit.
