Short Story: Post Post-Industrial Meltdown

His hand was empty. He carried in it only the trace of the work he used to do. Town to town now, begging for a scrap. That was – pretty much – the outlook. And the outlook was grim. And yet it could be kind. He’d find a stoicism in the support from others. He’d bind together whatever threads of what he thought he knew and use them too to continue on. He…