Billy Hudson punched the time clock at 6:47 AM, seven minutes early, which was the kind of habit that got you nowhere in a place like this.
The factory was on the edge of Youngstown, Ohio, a sprawling concrete building that had once employed four thousand people and now employed twelve hundred, and those twelve hundred were counting the days until the rest got the axe too. Billy had been here eighteen years. He knew the sound of every machine, the smell of every oil, the way the light came through the high windows at different...
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