factories/graves

I am in a cafe in a small town within the confines of the Northwest region of the United States. In this cafe are booths. Some are occupied with lowered heads, concentrating on activities. The floor is rough with footsteps from throughout the day. I heard that familiar song coming through the speaker, with the words "As I hurdled down the highway, past the factories and the graves", and it reminded me of many things. I am reminded of all the times and places I have heard those words, and how every time it stirred something in me, and gestured at faint memories. I recall a few weeks ago, and hearing those words while in the midst of a town populated by casinos and commerce. It made me think of the original incarnations of my nights spent with this song. Those words are more than just hints at my times spent with them, but what they suggest. I have had a long love affair with factories, industrial settings, especially at night, smoke aglow in the darkness. I am plunged into thoughts on the historical ramifications of this setting. How it didn't exist so-and-so many years ago. How it exists now, but will cease to one day. There are small, persistent lights. Clanking softly among the trees.