Page 52 - Self Talk

to answer. “Follow me for the two-cent tour.”
She got up, attempted to straighten her skin-tight skirt and following her lead, I marched, military style, over
to the platform on stilts where the plant supervisor, the only man in the place, scribbled furiously on a clipboard.
He barely acknowledged us as he barked out instructions on our trip down an aisle.
“Put the pedal to the metal, mamma, or you’ll be work’n on your break.”
“Git those shirts off the floor, blondie, caint you see they’re block’n the aisle.”
“Thread. Git some thread on over to station 42 right now,” he yelled out to no one in particular. “What’s your