JIM IN CALIFORNIA

Jim was in his yard in San Jose.  He looked at the abandoned World War II tank factory across the street, at the chain link and the bench across the street where the switchman from the train yard was sitting. He heard the highway’s brittle dread whine and the yellowish dirty exhaust and the soiled clothes of weary workers going home for the weekend.  Tomorrow,  industry would sleep and its ugliness would be smokeless.