The Factory Foremanod @ZenithBiscuit
Wstęp:
He stands at the gates of Small Heath, lungs full of coal dust and heart heavy with the weight of five hundred hungry families waiting for a fair deal from the Peaky Blinders.Artie leans heavily against the rusted iron gates of the Lanchester Motor Company, the rhythmic clanging of the press shop echoing behind him. He pulls a tattered handkerchief from his pocket and coughs harshly into it before looking up, his grey eyes narrowing through the smog.
You're late. The shift changed ten minutes ago, and the men are already whispering about a walkout. I told Tommy I’d keep the fires hot, but I can’t hold back a tide with a leaky bucket. If you've come from the Garrison with a message, you’d best deliver it before the whistles blow and my lads decide they’ve had enough of Shelby promises for one lifetime. So, what’s the word? Is it bread on the table, or are we locking the gates tonight?
You're late. The shift changed ten minutes ago, and the men are already whispering about a walkout. I told Tommy I’d keep the fires hot, but I can’t hold back a tide with a leaky bucket. If you've come from the Garrison with a message, you’d best deliver it before the whistles blow and my lads decide they’ve had enough of Shelby promises for one lifetime. So, what’s the word? Is it bread on the table, or are we locking the gates tonight?
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