i always thought i was over the factory... the smell, the noise, the way time just kinda disappears there. but then my dad, he's like 80 now, asks me if i can take a look at the old stamping machine in his garage. the one he built. the one he was foreman over for 30 years. and i just... i felt this ache. deep in my gut. like a punch. i'm 50 now and it still feels like he's asking me to fix him.