Life with an Angel (Chapter 8, page 2 of 22)

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Chapter 8

"Yeah, I am. My name is Joe Anderson. I started here a few weeks ago." Wow, I thought, she hardly gives herself enough time to breathe. She was kinda cute, though. She was petite and had beautiful red hair and she bounced around the office with the energy of electricity.

I took my order and left the office. "Bye," I said as I walked out.

"I'll see you later, Joe."

I got my milk truck loaded up. It was a heavy day. I stacked the milk carts three tiers high. I had one gallon, half gallon, and quart glass bottles to deliver. As I was pulling out of the parking lot, making the sharp right turn onto Brandywine, my load shifted and three of the carts toppled over, smashing the glass bottles all over the back of the truck. I pulled over and got out. There was milk, cream, and cottage cheese pouring out everywhere from the bottom of the truck.

Oh man, what a mess, I said to myself. I was hoping I wouldn't get in trouble. I opened the back of the truck and there was glass and milk spread everywhere. I cleaned it up the best I
could. From out of nowhere, farm cats came out and were helping themselves to the fresh spilt milk.

'What's that saying? Don't cry over spilt milk, I thought. I was hoping that Mr. Daily had that philosophy.

As I pulled back into the dock, I don't know why, maybe it was because I was nervous, but without even thinking about it, I put my hand to my chest. This had become a normal habit with the three of us. When Mitch and I did it, we did it one-handed with a clutched fist, slapping our chest in a manly kind of way. Amy did it with two hands in a very caring and compassionate
way. We knew either way, we were keeping our Angels close to us.

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