The Power Plant
Bells ring in my head. It’s my Mother phoning the Power Plant late into the night, to inquire why haven’t I come home. I know what time the night Operator is supposed to make his rounds to read the meters. But he will sleep half the night under the narcotic hum of the big chillers and fudge the numbers on the meter sheets. He’ll eat his lunch in the control room up front by the big gaping door of the plant. He’ll piss through the grate rather than come toward the tool room to go to the toilet. There’s a side door that’s always unlocked because the lock’s broken. It’s a good way for someone to get into the power plant unnoticed and into the tool room if they have a key, like Hawkins has a key. I know Hawkins knows these things too. Because now he’s looking at me and the ropes and pulleys hanging from the ceiling. He breathes hard and his hand digs deeper between his legs. He moves the door back and forth.
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