There was no longer a run at Barney’s five-and-dime on bibs and booties. The old men at the barbershop took bets that the last butt would be spanked on Monday, the twelfth of May, but lost when Margaret Goodseed went post-term and didn’t pop out an eight-pound-nine-ouncer until just after midnight on the thirteenth. Was limp at first. Doc Howard had to wipe his brow seven times until they both pinked up. Two days before, the quilt club ladies snickered in the sitting room circle, “She must be an elephant.” Cold bitches. Each subsequent Wednesday at six, the bingo hall filled with a support group for out-of-work mohels. They served Mildred’s tooth-picked little smokies, but no one had an appetite. Howard Minks received a telegram from Middleton Mattress & Sons that they were replacing the steel coils of his best seller with twine come next spring. More economical. Raised his prices on headboards the same day. Minnie Blush at the corner pharmacy finally released an unopened crate of expired penicillin to the back-alley burn barrel. Confided to the ear of the stock boy that she missed the affair of over-the-counter customers and their lean-in all-about-town whispers. But that her lumbago had improved. That summer was especially hot. But no one could do anything about it. The high school boys frustrated one foot on the cattle fence and spit chaw. Fingered the grip of their calluses and stared blindly into the ball of the sunset, a dark libidinous blue, from where nothing was ever expected to rise again.