Long Days, Low Pay,And A Moldy CotIgor Reichlin
This wasn't how Zbyshek K. had imagined paradise. First it was the madly screeching electric drills, the fine metallic dust that turned his saliva black, and the acrid reek of shiny paint being hand-sprayed on new Mercedes trucks in the paint shop. And all illusions were dashed when he saw the tiny room, with its moldy cots, that would be home for him and three other Poles for the next two years.
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