The 'girls' were the women she worked with at the factory, making small parts that would no doubt end the war someday. When she came home I was in bed...reading. She knocked on my door and came in. She was a little tipsy. "Hey Yank! Can you get some more pairs of stockings for the girls? We'll pay you for them." she half whispered, standing in the doorway. I told her it was too risky and I could get in serious trouble if caught. She gently pleaded with me but I refused. " That is a shame 'cus. I step in and let the hot water do its magic on me, relieving the tightness in my neck and shoulders from being hunched over all night. I moan in relief and try to rub out the sore spots. I love my work, but, as in every profession, there’s always a physical consequence. I smiled when I heard him enter the bathroom and felt his calloused hands sliding over my own. Working hands, we both have working hands. We’ve both earned every scar, every callous for the sake of our craft. My hands have long. More

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