(no subject)
On the train to Sacramento.
There is a C & H sugar cane factory. It has a big sign that glows neon at night: "C & H".
The buildings of this factory are brick. Old brick. The kind that seems like little teeth, laid out one by one, mortared in place. Very precise, from when this was an expected masonry skill.
There is a large building, with many-paned windows. About 9 panes, or 12, per window frame, surrounded by tiny dark red bricks.
This feels a bit ominous to look at, like a haunted schoolhouse, or a graveyard for injured workers. I'm looking in, wondering how many looked out wistfully.
Today the physical world feels too real.
My train passes by this old factory. I'm guessing it is still in use. The bricks seem taken for granted, sitting there in perfect formation. No applause... No cheering to pass them by. They were built, they exist, and when they get old enough or if someone crashes a car into them, they will crumble, and be razed.
It seems like they should get recognition, credit!, for making it this long....
Now I pass a somber train bridge. Red w a bit of rust. It does its job, silent.
Thank you, train bridge.
Thank you, sugar factory building.
Today, I see you.
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