TALES FROM ROUTE S-223
When we weren’t working in the fields, we had the chance to take on other, equally dirty jobs. Being a paperboy always meant you looked like Ash Wednesday exploded all over you. That newspaper ink was still wet when we got our bundles and it only took seconds for it to attach itself to all things organic and otherwise.
We could never do crimes as paperboys. Instant fingerprints. You’re welcome CSI.
