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J U D S O N M I T C H A M Loss of Power The noon news chokes off, war in a man’s throat. The fan’s blade quietly spins to a stop. The bulb over a full sink fails. All this happens at once, and a child shouts “Hey” from the next room, comes running to a man who is not surprised, but oddly shocked, at the loss. A mill worker, a laid-off doffer in the card room who worked sixteen hours routinely, he looks up powerless to change this, and he thinks, for the first time in his life, of the shape the .38 would make in his pocket, how no one would know him far away, at a small bank in Ellijay or a liquor store in Hartwell. But tonight, when his wife has laid out her tips on the steps, far short of what Georgia Power wants, he only walks, hands in his pockets, to the mill, where he leans his forehead on the warm brick, placing his palms on the trembling wall, feels the power work through him like prayer. For a long time, he stands like this. The 1980s ❚ 115 ...

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