I got a job at Louisville Sausage the fall after I’d been let go from my position as a railway engineer. They’d fired me in May, and I’d spent the summer trying to find a new engineer position in the mornings, drinking at Hank’s in the afternoons, and at night watching the presidential primaries and calculating how long it would take for my savings to sift through my fingers. I had child support payments on top of my own expenses, and I liked to treat my favorite bartender, Cynthia, to dinner now and then. Carlos, a regular at Hank’s, introduced me to Luke, the owner of Louisville Sausage, and since the shop was constantly understaffed, Luke hired me on the spot. I earned less than half what I had as an engineer, but it was still a couple dollars over minimum wage. I didn’t mind the pay cut because it was temporary: my license wouldn’t expire for another three years, and when we elected a Republican president who would push for more gas and oil extraction, railway jobs would once again start to flow.