Eight Thousand Gallons of Milk and a Small Blue Ledger

scheduled midday washdown. The breakroom was quiet, save for the hum of the old refrigerator in the corner and the occasional drip from the sink faucet.

I sat at the laminate table, a heavy ceramic mug of coffee between my hands. The coffee was hot and strong, the steam rising in thin curls toward the ceiling.

Wayne came in a moment later, carrying a continue reading …