Dawn had barely broken when the meter maid gathered her buckets and started down the main highway to where her meters were waiting, silently, as if completely spent. Their little red flags stretched up, tall and expired. All were swollen with coin from the night before. As the meter maid emptied their iron bellies, one by one, she was careful to pick out the occasional slug that fell into her bucket. The Collector wouldn’t trade for slugs. Even so, her buckets grew heavy very quickly, and soon it was time to head to market to trade the coin for milk.