by Charles Springer
Thomas is taking the back way into town this morning because there are fewer lights and he's needing fewer lights right now and the traffic ahead of him slows close to a standstill yet keeps moving and in a minute or two most of the cars ahead of him have turned off and he finds himself following this old-fashioned milk cart pulled by a horse whose driver keeps turning around and smiling but Thomas is more interested in getting to where he's going than addressing this historic anomaly which is, by the way, testing his perception of reality not to mention patience and it's gotten really hot out and Thomas's air conditioner is blowing warm so he rolls down his windows to take in some breeze and the cart driver sees him sweating up a little storm and now the collar of his shirt is soaked as they are moseying along and Thomas sees the cart driver is pressing a pint bottle of cold milk to his forehead to cool off so he calls to him, hey you there behind the horse, can you spare one for me and the cart driver says, sorry bud, every bottle I got here is earmarked for delivery to the octo- and nonagenarians in town who pay extra to relive the experience of finding fresh milk on their doorsteps; some say it's like being reborn, a reason to get out of bed in the morning and besides, the cart driver hollers over the rattle of bottles, you won't suffer long there young whippersnapper, look behind you. The iceman cometh.
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