Eight Thousand Gallons of Milk and a Small Blue Ledger

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Harold did not pick them up at first, his eyes staying on the white steam rising from his mug. “Your boy has had a hard run in Chicago, Martha.”

“This is not a hard run, Harold,” I said. “This is forty thousand dollars of our operational reserve gone to pay a personal default.”

He reached for his spectacles, sliding the wire frames behind continue reading …