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The candy store
One of the best things about growing up was that my grandparents had a candy
store. It was your basic neighborhood shop selling candy, papers and of
course egg-creams at the small luncheonette counter. My grandparents lived
down the alley, out back of the store. They'd owned the place for about 35
years, even through the Depression, which they got through by selling black
market cigarettes.
For me and my brother, the place was a goldmine. Grandpa used to let us hang
out in the phone booth and read every comic book in the rack as long as we
didn't mess up the covers. Each year he'd also give us a full set of Topps
basebal cards. But the biggest deal was the rubber balls. My grandma would
let me take a couple on every visit, and for special occassions, she'd give me
a full dozen in the unopened box. I'd come home, hop out of the car with the
goods, and all the guys would start whooping it up like I'd found some kind of
treasure chest.
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