...save for one.
The milkman makes his rounds, as he has done every day since before anyone can remember. This is his time; time to make the deliveries. The townspeople are counting on him. They want their milk.
Today, however, the milkman appears slightly, almost imperceptibly different. One would be hard-pressed to find anyone more cheerful than the vapid male drone who had delivered the milk every day previously, but here, today, is a man positively enraptured with his work. His polished shoes bounce on the asphalt; his neatly pressed-uniform shines with pride; his small black eyes gleam with glee.
This is, of course, his first day on the job after a long break. He's been looking forward to it for quite a while! He was beginning to worry he wouldn't get to make his deliveries ever again, but it seems that, once again, his services have been requested.
He loves this town, he really does. He loves absolutely everybody in it. It is absolutely vital that everyone receives their deliveries; he can't allow even a single house to go missed. The only way his job could possibly get any better is if he could stay behind and watch them open the door: see their smiling faces as they take that first, creamy sip. He cannot, of course, because he has many houses to hit. It's a lonely, thankless job, the milkman's lot... but he wouldn't have it anyone other way.
The milkman sweeps through town and doesn't miss a single house. He hasn't, ever, and he never will. It's been a long time since he made his rounds through Mayfield, but he remembers every last curve! And that's good, because he doesn't think he's going to leave again. Not for a good, long while.
Brady Lane and Mitchell Road receive their usual deliveries of milk, orange juice, and cream.
As for Beaver Street, Bunker Street, and Ricardo Street?
1761: Four quarts of milk.
1762: Two quarts of milk, and a quart of orange juice laced with deadly nightshade.
1763: Two quarts of orange juice, a quart of milk, and a carton of yogurt.
1764: Three bottles of human blood.
1765: Four quarts of milk, two of which contain a small amount of broken glass.
1766: Two quarts of chocolate milk, and a quart of all-purpose cream. A living spider has been dropped in each glass.
1767: A carton of yogurt, and two quarts of orange juice.
1768: Two quarts of milk and a small tub of ice cream.
501: No delivery.
502: Two quarts of chocolate milk, and two apparently empty bottles each containing a concentrated amount of cyanide gas.
503: Three quarts of white milk, each containing a large razor blade.
504: Two quarts of milk, a carton of yogurt, and a tub of ice cream.
505: Three quarts of chocolate milk, one of which is host to a tarantula.
506: Two quarts of motor oil.
507: A quart of cream, and two quarts of milk.
508: Three quarts of milk.
766: Four quarts of milk, two of which have been spiked with a small dose of curare.
767: A tub of ice cream, a carton of cream, and a quart of milk.
768: Two quarts of orange juiced spiked with a small dose of LSD.
769: Four quarts of milk, and a tub of ice cream.
770: Two quarts of chocolate milk, and a carton of cream.
771: A bottle of orange juice and two quarts of milk, both of which contain three human teeth each.
772: One quart of chocolate milk.
773: Three quarts of milk, and a carton of cream.
This is merely the list for the first day of the milkman's return to Mayfield; for every day following, the milkman will make his morning rounds, dropping his "little surprises" in about 10% of the time. Feel free to have your character notice any... inconsistencies with their morning milk delivery before ingesting it. For those who fail to do so, the usual no-death-in-Mayfield rule will, mercifully, not apply to anyone who actually drinks it; they will die and re-awaken in their beds the next day.
Trust us, it's for the best.