A Strange Place

Inhaling cancer sticks is necessary to be proper here. Carlos cautions that 4 ton winches though the size of a toaster will surely amputate a toe if handled improperly. My clipboard lists disorienting labels; I itch to decipher their use, but then remind myself: That curiosity is not needed to perform. Every scruffy laborer who asks for tarps and their varying widths is smirking in their throats when I buzz Beth for assistance. Lunch is the others – having a chew by the dumpsters while I'm clawing strands of hair wondering if Addy has enough to nibble on in her bowl back home.