[dropcap]I[/dropcap]n the checkout line before me stood a boy. Not just a boy. A growing boy, he must’ve been eight feet tall, weighing in at a-buck-ten. Sopping wet. He was a tower. If he were to fall down he’d be halfway home.
One thing about growing boys: sometimes they need peanut butter. This, I know from experience. But they don’t just want plain peanut butter. No. They want it encased in a thin layer of chocolate and wax-paper – with ridges on the sides.
You can’t reign in cravings like that.
Reese’s are a childhood pastime, ranking somewhere between puppies and the World Series. They are perfect treats, and cannot be improved upon.
The boy set the Reese’s down on the checkout counter. Then he fumbled through his pockets and counted his loose change. He was as slow as an iron toad, wearing a concerned look on his face.
The cashier waited patient.
I stepped forward. “Hey Stilts, you got enough?”
He shook his head.
“I got it.” I reached for my wallet. “How much is it?”
He shrugged. “With or without the Mountain Dew?”
“I really want a Mountain Dew to wash the Reese’s down.”
It was a reasonable suggestion.
“Go get one,” I said.
The boy jogged away while I waited. When he returned, he set down the soda, along with another package of Reese’s.
“Two Reese’s?” I said. “You must be super-hungry.”
He grinned at me. “No, that one’s for you.”