“I can only see the receiving bank.

Once it leaves Oak Creek, it belongs to them.”

I folded the receipt carefully and slid it into my wallet next to my driver’s license.

“Has it been doing this every year?” I asked.

Brenda looked back at her screen and clicked her mouse two more times.

“Every single year,” she said.

“The exact same route.”

At two o’clock, I walked down the middle aisle of our market with an empty cardboard box.