Sore hands. Raw parts. Hard work in Dogtown, served in sinew and time to mend and to make. Heaped by the doorway, hunched in the shadow, where the metal coils ends, the men can begin. Machine shops and spares, welding and crafting, carving a lifetime from showers of sparks.
Dogtown is busy but no one is making or manufacturing here, it's all spare parts and scrap, repairs and custom jobs. Opera pipes from the workshops, fake birdsong from the alleys, but the sound of the welding punches right through. The pressure is on and it’s easy to feel, people work hard and dream big for success. In a country that’s growing there’s still room to make it, tomorrow to hope for once today has passed by.