The industrial march begins under the dense cover of dawn. Many rise reluctantly, smacking the snooze on strident alarms, to do the morning shuffle.
Shots of caffeine surge through veins varicosed by stress and the burden of bills that wouldn’t be paid ‘cause the need to lay bread on the dinner table trumps the greed of collectors every time.
Some leap from the cover of cozy comforters, roused by internal clocks clicking inspiration in their heads; no lattes needed here, thank you; these self-starting turbo-charged engines run on zeal and the promise of a very green future.
Others just lay in bed, spirits crushed by crosses they couldn't bear; voices hushed by forces that most men fear…