Eight Thousand Gallons of Milk and a Small Blue Ledger

stood near the control panel with a pencil tucked behind his ear.

“Look at this run, Martha,” Wayne said, gesturing to the line.

I reached out and lifted one of the freshly filled gallon jugs from the conveyor. The plastic felt thin under my fingers, lacking the sturdy weight of our usual run. I turned the bottle in my hands. The side continue reading …