Eight Thousand Gallons of Milk and a Small Blue Ledger

split in the trucks, waiting for the grocery chains to call with their complaints so he could hand the board a ready-made disaster.

I stood up, my knees aching from the cold concrete.

I walked back through the bottling floor, where the conveyor belt was humming at eighty dollars an hour. Wayne was standing by the control panel, watching the new dented continue reading …