Tragedy in the factory
Steel toed boots make pinging noises in the
gleaming pipes twisting about the
factory. Lucky for him, production
is halted today, and no
warm milk on its way to curd runs
through this particular vein. Ahead, he sees,
a bend in this tunnel, and then, lights,
and then, yes, he finds them.
Perched above a vat
of whey are Pooh and Piglet.
“I think she’s pregnant,” he says.
