CHAPTER 1 – II
Once home, Abe poured a pint of wine and downed half of it in one pull. He was powerless against Augustina. As was every worker, as he saw it, against the master of their livelihood. And worse yet, he felt as if he was letting Urissa down. She was a feisty and promising journalist at the Union Record agitating for workers’ rights and dignity. What was he? Urissa called him Sir Abe, bless her, to turn his nickname on its head. But he was known around the factory as Abe Sir. “Yes, sir.” “No, sir.” ‘What’s your name?’ “Abe, sir.” He would do something – some thing – to give Augustina his comeuppance. The exact nature of said uppance-to-come would surely come to Abe after finishing that pint. Or at the very least after the second.
These thoughts came to Abe as he drunkenly teetered on the walkway above a vat of not-yet-ground beef. In a fit of pique and spontaneity he left their apartment while Urissa slept. His two-pint insight was that while some form of long term worker’s victory seemed impossible, several short term moral victories were very much attainable. So there he was, standing upon that walkway – precariously – with his fly down and his aim true.
I am a revolutionary fighting for my name
Aiming at retribution for my agnomina
And I do not care what form of me remains
But it must be freed from Augustina
While Abe wobbled there exacting some modicum of revenge, the flies who were enjoying their nightly gorging below began to disperse amidst the precipitation. The insects swarmed up above, forming a cloud around the nostrils, eyes, and mouth of the rainmaker. Abe’s already compromised balance gave way and he tumbled downward, and though the beefy padding would normally provide for a semi-comfortable landing, the vat wall upon which his head cracked left him lying there unconscious.
Full of vigor, absent inhibition
Seize the day; carpe diem; fuck it
The freedom to say: suck it