The Crime of Fruitcake and a Fruitcake’s Crime

My mother’s sister always — always, always, every year — sent her a Collin Street fruitcake. Always — always, always every year — went untouched. We joked it would make a terrific Roach Motel after WW III. I’m sure some of them remain intact at the bottom of landfills outside Livingston.

Anyway, here’s some astonishing escapades from a Collin Street employee.

 

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