CHAPTER 2

In the predominantly African-American neighborhood, the immense truck frame plant stood as a fading beacon of the rust belt. The layoffs hadn’t yet reached Michael, but he knew his union seniority would not last forever. One day, maybethis day, the boss would hand him the pink slip; it was just a matter of time.

The plant parking lot showed plenty of empty spaces, and few of the vehicles were new. Since the housing and mortgage industries had gone bust back in 2008, unemployment had hit hard and many were out of work. Michael grabbed his lunch pail, opened the driver’s door, hit the power locks and stepped out of the car. The wind gust slammed the door shut for him. By the lot entrance, three black men stood, huddled against the cold.

As Michael walked past, a tall, thin black man asked,“Hey man, you got a solid quarter?”

“Ain’t got no money.”

“Cigarette, then?” The second black said.

“Don’t smoke. Can’t afford it.”

“You’s workin’,” the third black said.“Gimme a dollar, now. I know you got a dollar.”

Michael mov