Jungle Night

Gabriel Juarez Garcia wears no shirt, no one does. The factory is filled with sweat, the factory is filled with empty stomachs. The machines tailor the custom fits: small, medium, large, XL, XXL… Gabriel tries to believe the eternal is now, that the never ending and the holy spirit is here and made this conveyor belt into the heavens for him, too. The sound of steel on stone wears on

…and the question Why? comes into mind…

but How? is far more important: how will I feed my children when the tax man comes today, tomorrow, it makes no difference. BoomSlapWhirr, BoomSlapWhirr…the sound of cheap labor doubles and re-doubles and no one is counting, not even on all ten fingers and toes.  And that is why I will not see Gabriel Juarez Garcia, my father, I will not see him tonight or tomorrow night—that is why when we pass each other on the jungle trail in the dim light that is every day and night, I see only the ghost of my future self and he only the ghost of his past and there is nothing to say, nothing to do but step to the side of the trail and pass on. The light never changes, every time it is the same and it seems eternal though the lines on our faces grow deeper

…and the question Why? never comes to mind again…

we do not even hear it whisper when the wind is in the tops of the trees or when they crash to the ground—our ears only ring with the sound of steel on stone as the jungle sweats and fills with ghosts

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