Written as part of a challenge called Friday fictioneers, https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/03/16/18-march-2016/
“I’m going to college. I ain’t living in tar paper shack…workin’ some foundry job!” The words 20 years distant.
His tired calloused eyes glared. “That foundry fed you. It’s raised you and all us folk!”
“Cancer to the family. Two of your fingers. It cost us. I’m living in a real house. That foundry will close before I walk in..” my tone faded.
Out the window, the foundry stares back. It took the old man. Cancer says the doctor. Incremental parts were stripped from all of us.