Eight Thousand Gallons of Milk and a Small Blue Ledger

do them at all.”

The old refrigerator in the corner kicked on with a loud groan, vibrating against the drywall.

“I will get the money,” I said.

Wayne stood up, tucking the snapped stirrer into his shirt pocket. “The warehouse closes at six.”

The wind had picked up by four o’clock, blowing dry oak leaves across the gravel parking lot. I stood by Wayne’s continue reading …