And they will be holding on to lamp posts and sign, feigning fighting against a strong wing. While half a dozen crew members toss water at them from just out of frame. Six times an hour. Until someone calls ‘lunch’! (I’ve done the blizzard version.)
I imagine he might tell you he could tell when something wasn’t right by the subtle change in the rhythm of the press or vibrations in the floor. A cacophony to the layman. A comfort to the pressman while they proof read the paper. Even though it had all been checked by half a dozen others before him.
Very, very good. Or, I might hammer them into a long sheet, tapered on one side, and cut individual nails in custom sizes as needed.