I was still getting to know who was who. The guy wearing the lumberjack shirt and the Baltimore Ravens cap fascinated me. His name was Jack. “From Baltimore?” I offered. “Nah, from Houston,” said the foreman, “The cap was a present from the boss – for when he got back to work, after the accident.“
I watched Jack working his piece – everything in place: machine guards, ear and eye protectors. He paused for a moment. Wiped sweat from his forehead. Fumbled for cigarette and lighter. Right hand, no fingers.
“For the record,” I said, “Size 7, New York Jets”.
For Friday Fictioneers.