It’s dark and cold and you can’t sleep because of the draft from the window or a dream turns ugly or you had to pee but couldn’t find the strength to kick off the covers.  So, you lay there shivering, trying to work up the courage to make a run through the dark and into the bathroom.

That’s when you’d hear the truck pull up and the door slide open and the rattling of glass, and you’d be a little less scared—even a little excited.  There’d be footsteps scraping up the stairs, heading towards your floor.  And you’d smile because you knew this guy was out there, looking after you, wearing a suit as white as God’s, clinking bottles that sound sweeter than anything you’ve heard since.  And sometimes, if you were good for the entire week, he’d lift a note out of your apartment door milk box written by your mother, and lower a bottle of chocolate milk inside.

I hope my musical milkman knows/knew of all the smiles and sighs of relief behind all those locked doors as he rattled those bottles, shaking them like a goddamn medicine man obsessed with driving away evil spirits.

Mark Blickley (he/him) grew up within walking distance of New York's Bronx Zoo. He is a proud member of the Dramatists Guild, PEN American Center, and Veterans For Responsible Leadership. His latest book is the flash fiction collection 'Hunger Pains' (Buttonhook Press).

Photographer Keiran Campbell is based in Toronto, Canada, where he performs as a core member of Tafelmusik Baroque Orchestra. He recently performed with Le Concert Des Nations under Jordi Savall, touring Europe, performing Beethoven Symphonies before recording them on Savall’s new CD. Keiran is fascinated with instrument making, which he studies with the maker of his cello, Timothy Johnson.