Since 2009
The silo already knew how to refuse a bad load. Faces were next.
Maren came off the grain drafts. Cal came off a muni that sits in Floyd wind. The hopper is what they built so loft would stop being a rumor.
Sixth Street still smells like river dust after a south wind. We kept the clipboard culture from the elevator: a load either weighs or it does not. A face either starts a roll or it skates. There is no third column for feelings.
Players from Leeds, Riverside, and South Sioux bring putters that looked honest in a shop two states away. On this bermuda they hop or they skid. The hopper exists to stamp the degree this town actually uses, not the degree a catalog printed for a faster green in another river basin.
We still shut Sunday and Monday. Grain desks always did. The carpet does not get smarter because a weekend warrior wants a stamp before brunch.