Under the canopy of stars and the soft comfort of the moon lies a deeper darkness, one of disconnectedness that can only be brought on by the acute pangs of desolation hanging dankly in the air of the night shift….
The wife, the kids, and the dogs at home asleep dreaming of places far from here. I’m surrounded by people in this old factory, yet I simply could not feel more alone. I’m middle-aged now but I feel I’ve already died a million times over on many of nights just like this one. I’m sure that’s why it’s called the graveyard shift.
Broken Zen 