Bingham market delivery arrives as I'm chasing the Sc. Boys from play on my doorstep. I insist he, "Aren't you a new man?" must bring in the order and let me check as both recent orders have had errors in them. The crate he carries is all tied around with string. He asks if another crate isn't mine. I say, "I think so" but then he brings in some hardware. "No that isn't mine, nor is that," a package of a dozen cupcakes. Then the Sc. Boys are again playing on my stoop. The stoop is much larger now and extends across the next doorway. I tell them they must go, and try to fasten the door so they can't get in. I get my fingers in some green paint doing so to their delight. They say, "We just painted that." I start to scold them. ( I had gotten paint from a garbage can on my fingers recently.)