Laying railroad. Lunch break. New smooth railways, quiet trains; quiet coal-pushers. Mild creosotes. Smooth labor ready joint and bolts. A customer-friendly smile below a pair of Oakleys. Hammer heads that shine; new structures on new soil. The ancient crabgrass is relocated to private grounds. Only the reclusive, eccentric and wealthy care for tradition, these days. The rest of us ride bullet trains through fast food lines, through their silver arches. Shootin’ All Threes Again.
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