He is a sturdy creature - built to last, as the pundits say. Like Atlas, holding
the world on his shoulders, he is a strong figure, utilitarian, although there is
a secret buzz in his heart, the sound of twilight in May. 'B' is the distant sound
of a mournful trumpet, full and lingering on the edge of the horizon and it is the
sharp shriek of a six a.m. whistle beckoning him to the machines that belch smoke
and forge steel. These mountainous monoliths are mirrored in his face as he smoothes
his hair back over his head, pushing his palm down to the aches in his neck.