Our Father…

..who art in Heaven

hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,

on earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day our daily thread

and forgive us our faux pas

as we forgive the faux pas thrust against us.

Lead us not into nylon

and deliver us from acrylic.

Amen.

 

The horn blows as the assembly rises from their knees. They turn their backs on the image they were facing as in unison, they return to their chairs, pull themselves closer to their tables and hunch over their tables; picking up pieces of fabric to continue the previous days’ projects.

“Nap tie is at one o’clock!” a deep booming voice rings from the speakers scattered around the room.

Several men pace around the room, carrying a long piece of oddly shaped black metal and donning the same strange green-and-brown patterned clothes that resemble the forests the sitting employees seem to recall from somewhere in the distance of their small undeveloped membranes.

As one man passes a small, curious worker, this worker watches him, craning his neck to inspect the man.

“Number 1858, face forward,” the voice demands.

The young seamster turns his head quickly and looks at the portrait of Charles F. Worth, outfitted with three lit candles.

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