I looked up to the front windshield when we turned left. Not only were we passing cars and trucks like they were sitting still, but we were passing TH...OUGH them too. Somehow, the Suburban had taken on a ghost-like quality, with us inside. Otherwise, Michael drove like a bat out of Hell. I still didn’t understand the strange path though, and didn’t have the chance to ask. We made another left turn and shortly thereafter, came to a screeching halt behind a Humvee.“Let’s go,” Michael said, pulling. What were they to do?’’There was also a factory that customized truck bodies. A strike brought that plant down. While the workers marched with signs condemning all but themselves a city in Tennessee convinced the owners to move to their friendlier community. The people shrugged again.The typewriter factory was the last to go. It struggled to survive for several years. Over time, workers got to park closer and closer to the Employee Entrance as their numbers dwindled. By the time the doors shut. More

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