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Metal Man

The metal man wasn’t always metal. He told me it started with an accident in a factory. What kind of factory no one really knows; it was so long ago that the metal man himself can’t even remember. He was young back then, maybe seventeen, and he couldn’t afford college, no matter how much he wanted to go, so he got a job at the local factory. He was working a late shift one night, in the boiler room, when he heard a commotion from the main floor above him. He heard a clang and a thump and someone was screaming, but maybe not someone. The metal man said it was too animalistic, too primal. He remembers leaving the boiler room to go check on it and then he remembers the doctors telling him that he’d been crushed by a crane, telling him he was lucky to be alive. // The physician found him in the attic after his father died. He was going through the Christmas decorations, digging through cardboard, uncrunching old newspaper, when he came across the metal man—upright in the corner, draped in

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