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The Rig

There it sits.
The last glow of the moon hitting it.
Reflecting its beauty.
It doesn't care about bulletins, emails, and mandatory OT.
It was made for speed, work, and tough times.
Designed by engineers, built by hard men, and owned by the people.
They paid more money than you'll ever see but when it's called its priceless.
A work of art.
Tons of metal coming together to perform magic.
Majestic in execution.
But are you Picasso or are you finger painting?
This rig,
This beautiful symbol of hope, love and daring.
It's waiting not for a driver, but an operator.
Despite everything about it when the time comes none of that matters.
Then the only thing that matters
Do you know what it can do?
Can you move it with the precision of a master?
Or are you pretending?
When the bell rings what will it be ...
The symbol of excellence, sound of life, and saver of lives
Will it be parked, blocking the doers, and delaying those that can make it happen?
Will the kids on the street see the magic or be front row to a circus?
Only you know.
When the bell rings
Only you can.
Always forward, always moving.
-Train or Die

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