the factory hums, streets spit smoke,
hands clasped tight, an unspoken pact—
trust stitched into the seams of grime.
we are the rats gnawing the wires,
the dreamers with dirt-buried eyes.
you pull, I push, the wheel groans.
great deeds are accidents of sweat,
born in shadows, baptized in whiskey.
discovery isn’t lightning, never magic,
it’s boots worn thin on bad roads,
it’s sharing the hollow of a trench,
knowing the other won’t run—
the fire burns brightest in company:
this brute world, held up by bruises,
moves forward because we agree to
split the load and drink after.