Once upon a time, in Chattanooga a young girl made her way to work, picking flowers to add to her basket of posies which she plucked with fingers and cheeks so rosy.
“Where are you going,” came a sudden voice from the shadows, “on such a bright day as this?”
“Just to work, kind sir,” she answered, “and off I must go or my shift I will miss.”
“You don’t want to go there,” said the voice with a growl. “Not without my help.” And he stepped from the bush as she let out a yelp. “So you work at the factory,” said the half beast/half man, “toiling on the line of assembly for the company plan.”
“That is my job,” said she. “Which I do every day, and for which I’m rewarded with benefits and pay.”