56: Taste
In the ice cream season, I sold tools for dicing onions and carving turkey. My pitch left me cotton-mouthed and the customers sour. But my mom said OK, she’d bite. She saw something to my dad’s taste and snapped it up for his cake day. When it arrived, I salivated over it. But my hand went to my mouth—and I tasted copper. The hungry knife had bit my palm. When popsicle-and-lemonade weather returned, I sold donuts. They uh they were delicious.