M1 Rail Man
This is a fiction piece written from my Detroit area writers group, exploring the work of building the M1 Rail through a man on the line.
Line by line. Rail by Rail. Hands down. Jacket on. Mid-day Fall, early Fall where the heat is striking just as much as my tool on the steel. Grounded. Complete. Next few feet.
They named it, but not what I named it. I call it Ole Detroit Line. Decades ago we had something like this. What happened? People. Properties. Automobile moving father and farther away.
One step back towards the core now. Downtown. One step back and forward. Back and forward in time.
Testing will begin soon. So we're almost there. Lot's of fuss over it. How will the cars share the road with the new light rail? How will people use it? Who? These aren't light questions. But I came just to build and build onwards.
Stations. Stops. Temporary rest. The skeleton is up, then filled. Advertisements next. Shallow faces of figures we may or may not want to be. Who cares? It looks good. Finished and polished and waiting for Detroiters now.
I am tired. The sun cools and chilly Fall comes in. I am tired. They wanted more and more hours. A project is never complete until it is.
Hands down now. Hands up. Rest. Move. To the city. The city of working class people, the city of poor, the city of billionaires rebuilding, the city of engines roaring and disappearing. On my line. On my time. No more.