Cellular Activity

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The heavy and wet air floats in the room like an old and bored ghost. The stench of fuel and engine oil joins that of sweat, a sick alchemy tasting like an old dusty workshop. Dirty and bony hands strongly grasp a big wrench, the knuckles whiten to further tighten a valve. A flickering fluorescent tube lights up the scene, drawing irregular sharp shadows.

A rough voice, made by years of cheap cigarettes, comes up from beneath a huge machine. “Give it a try now, Jay!”

On the other side of the plant, a stocky man, with his overalls smeared with dirt, stops working on a long welding and puts the electrode and his protective dark mask down on the counter. He pulls off his gloves and heads to a control panel. “Ready here! Tell me when I have to open it!”

“Go ahead, but very slowly. Get ready to close everything.”

The man presses a few buttons, then he opens a big red valve, keeping an eye on the needle of the pressure gauge that gradually starts raising. “More?”

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