Editing SLACKJAW

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With the port all but silent, he grew more and more desperate to feed and take care of his family. People were leaving Seattle in droves and the help wanted ads shrank as the classifieds bulged. He gave up on the docks and did some odd jobs with moving companies, but that work eventually petered out, too. The unemployment rate kept creeping higher and higher, and Franklin wasn't qualified for the jobs that were around.  
 
With the port all but silent, he grew more and more desperate to feed and take care of his family. People were leaving Seattle in droves and the help wanted ads shrank as the classifieds bulged. He gave up on the docks and did some odd jobs with moving companies, but that work eventually petered out, too. The unemployment rate kept creeping higher and higher, and Franklin wasn't qualified for the jobs that were around.  
  
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His only relief was his rope hobby. The older dock workers and sailors used to show Franklin how to tie the old-fashioned knots... a dying art in the era of containerized cargo. Somehow tying and untying the complicated patterns helped him cope with his problems. But he could find no real relief from the forces that were closing in on him.  
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His only relief was his rope hobby. The older dock workers and sailors used to show Franklin how to tie the old-fashioned knots... a vague memory in the era of containerized cargo. Somehow tying and untying the complicated patterns helped him cope with his problems. But he could find no real relief from the forces that were closing in on him.  
  
 
His wife abandoned him and his fourteen year old son. For awhile Franklin considered taking to the streets. Even though he was heading toward middle-age he was still wiry and tough--he could be an enforcer for the growing mobocracy in and around Rust City... for that matter he could get a gun and just take what he wanted. He even bought a gun once, but his son found him cleaning it. That night Franklin took the gun to the harbor and threw it in.  
 
His wife abandoned him and his fourteen year old son. For awhile Franklin considered taking to the streets. Even though he was heading toward middle-age he was still wiry and tough--he could be an enforcer for the growing mobocracy in and around Rust City... for that matter he could get a gun and just take what he wanted. He even bought a gun once, but his son found him cleaning it. That night Franklin took the gun to the harbor and threw it in.  

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