Meat wagon

The firing of a truck load of meat and two cases of assault enlived the strike of the meat wagon drivers yesterday.

He began his career as an itinerant meat wagon driver who sold cut beef to farmers and working-class families along a regular route.

She tried not to be flattered, knowing this rake could talk a dog off a meat wagon.

So they had to take me from there in an ambulance. . . . I remember my dad and uncle used to call them meat wagons.

It was a little past ten that night when his nurse, Sylvia of the Bedpans, came tiptoeing in with sleeping pills on a little tray and told him that his friend, Detective Leary, had just been delivered to the emergency room in a meat wagon.

Most of the time this proved but a temporary respite, and when he was too far gone he went into the meat wagon, at which time he dispossessed the most robust looking of the riders.

He spent the next four hours in the back of the sweltering NYPD meat wagon as police rounded up other young men.

In the middle of each night the gendarmerie's meat wagon made its rounds slowly, its crew stopping by the hunched clochard figures who sprawled in rags on the streets and gutters and doorways of Paris.

I looked over at the man driving the meat wagon in which I was currently a court-required passenger and said, ever the fellow armed with a witty retort: "Huh?"

The old man wandered away from his retirement home, dropped dead on the beach and was picked up by the meat wagon and sent to the morgue.