When I was a boy, I delivered newspapers in a small town. On Tuesdays, the paper was always thin. The canvas bag strapped around my sunburned neck was light on Tuesdays because there were no coupons that day. I finished my route of nearly 80 newspapers in less than an hour because I rode a bicycle. On Tuesdays, I sometimes managed to complete the route in less than 25 minutes, unless of course, Grace Hershey, an old woman with white hair, stopped me just to chat.
Grace complained on Tuesdays about the town newspaper; she fussed that it was a rip-off on Tuesdays and she wished that somehow she could maintain her subscription, minus Tuesday delivery.
When I was a little boy, I collected money once a month from people like Grace Hershey, on behalf of the newspaper for which I was paid nearly five-cents a copy for distributing.