The Gristmill

It had rained overnight; the fascia was moist, the drops of precipitation still trickling ever downward in lazy trails from the eaves and shingles of the roof. Although the sun had finally risen from its bed across the horizon and the morning was well under way, the thick concrete foundation of the mill as yet retained the evening humidity. Such was the curse of a cool climate after the long winter, yet before the summer heat set in. The building was a plain, slender rectangle set amid the forest; fitted with weathered wooden siding and a few small windows, the interior was dark more often than not. For whatever reason the boss never bothered to level the ground by the door, the cheap bastard, and millers such as myself had to shimmy across a couple of old planks of wood to get inside.
I'd worked a double. Maybe a triple. Hell, the chief never bothered installing built-in lights and with little exposure to the outside and too much work, none of the boys ever seemed to know which end was up. We had a production deadline, you see, so the bare interior was all we saw until we finally just passed out after the Red Bull and coffee ceased to function. My thermos was long empty and my belly was growling in anger. I hadn't fed myself anything but caffeine since I stepped foot in the gristmill. What the hell the entire population of the U.S. of A. needed with all that flour was beyond me, but the order came down and we all had to fill it or go home – for good.
Machines, a few hanging work lights, sacks of grain, and tired men doing grueling shift work. That was pretty much it for the place we all called "home" till quitting time. The boss never came down from his office in town. No need. In this economy, we were at his mercy and would do whatever it took to keep a steady paycheck. He could replace us as easily as we drew a breath, and we all had families to feed.
I was the last one to leave. I shut off the grinder and heaved a world-weary sigh as it powered down. My eyes burned and teared up from lack of sleep and I knew that stepping outside was going to be a waking nightmare. I winced as I eased onto the planks, shutting and locking the door before slowly inching my way down to the forest floor. I hated heights. Even short ones. Not to mention the fact that in my state there'd be no way I could keep myself from falling once I started, and my bones were getting old.
I hiked back to my truck, slid into the seat, and thrust the key into the ignition. Leaning back, I stretched my whole body as far as I could and heard a satisfying series of crackling pops as my joints protested my lack of rest. Just another thirty minutes and I'd be able to sleep. I glanced at the digital display on my radio, which whined dully in a series of hazy enunciations that formed a screen of white noise. Sheila'd probably be seeing the kids off to school when I returned. Maybe I'd get to see them at the end of the week.

Firing my engine up, I turned out of the parking lot onto the quiet country road that led me back home.