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children of industry

looking, you hear enormous whirring and clanging, feel cotton lint hanging in the air, see shadowy presence, maybe he’s there, maybe he’s in your mind. spinning spools of time, painting swirls of color on the ground, a little girl dressed in her Sunday Best finally sitting down.
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Written by
emily-m
American
Published
Dec 21, 2011
Lines·Words
19·47
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