HOME DELIVERY I would get up in the early morning and hurriedly pull on a pair of denim pants, patterned shirt and a pair of beat-up sneakers to scoot out the backdoor and up the six or so blocks past the Junior High, cutting through the parking lot of the laundromat on Market Street and into the alleyway leading to the squat cinder-block building with a large garage-like door on the left and a small office to the right. Although still dark, there was a bustle of activity on the street and in the building as the three refrigerated trucks waited their turn to back halfway through the open bay to load plastic cases holding quart, half-gallon and gallon containers of pasteurized milk, along with pints and half-pints of chocolate milk, heavy cream and half-and-half. As a helper on the morning retail run covering second and third and fourth wards, I would begin the day’s shift stacking the crates of milk along the walls of the back of the truck, arranging them for easy access acc