The Milkman
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Published by BigManBigBelly
Video Transcription
Dressed in long white linens and a white fiddler cap, the milkman whistled a cheery tune as
he jaunted down the suburban sidewalk.
In the early morning light, a trickle of fog arose among the morning dew glistening across
rows and rows of identically manicured green lawns.
He stopped before an unassuming Cape Cod-style home, placed down four glass milk jars by
the doormat, and then ****** twice on the knocker.
Upstairs out of a dead *****, Mr. Perry awoke and sat up suddenly.
Mr. Perry was a young professional, early thirties.
He worked in accounting for a law firm in town.
He was tall and slender, always appearing well-dressed and hair coifed outside the house.
He peeled back the sheet on his bed and placed bare feet on the cool carpet floor.
He was sweating, nervous, trying to resist.
Another knock on the door and he sprung up before walking steadily down the stairs into
the front door.
When he opened it, still naked from *****ing, he was greeted by the milkman wearing a wide
and wicked smile, who winked and walked away, whistling and waving back at Mr. Perry.
Of course, he recognized the man.
The whole neighborhood knew who he was, even if they didn't talk about him.
He delivered milk several times a year, each time to a single household, though no one
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