Factory

It was a tedious job of course. Monday mornings staring at a conveyor belt, as I ran me eyes over products faa defects, faults and imperfections. I worked with a large workforce on da 1st and 2nd floors; arms - legs – torsos - da head floor quality control. The structural work - bone, arteries, innards etcetera, where manufactured on da 2nd floor. The detail was added by hundreds of technicians downstairs da 3rd floor.

The building shuddered out pinky plastic in vacuum packs, thousands pumped out efficiently all day everyday, vibrating white-brick walls, racket nauseous twelve hours a day.

Ehh Meself balding Bob, I got almost ecstatic when I spot flaw rolling passed me eyes, a perversion in da day always rises a smile: Two-limbs, three-legs warped together, a melted torso or too - a polymorphic mannequin if I'm lucky. Automatic cycle continuous like me dripping nose an all-round flu. But am home fa six, bed at ten, up at seven to began again.

Tuesday rotor - ah eh joinery day, sinew sawdust, connective-tissue – fat rendering. A tricky job, ball-joints being a fine art. But it's better then me Monday shift.

Marko look at him! Same soppy grin on his greasy face, on da mop on Wednesday; He not me...I'm still on dung heap across da floor. He's a lucky sod, a therapeutic job no doubt moping up gore, lapping it across da huge floor, to a fine gleam. Eh ah he was a good lad though. His blue overalls, ruddy cherry colour by end of da day.

Thursday I would see Her arrive, me heart revolving every time, two years everytime. She surveyed all floors clipboard in hand, smiling, yes smiling! We share a coffee most Friday's, making me week. I haven’t a chance, eh but I don't care.

I swear I can hear an angry buzz from that bureaucratic hive in da basement with it's irate mangers dim under inane co-worker chitterchatter-chattering on are upper floors. Revolving life as them long convener belts rolled out da mannequin's made flesh. Every day ... everyday.