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Taste of Summer

There's nothing like paying four times the listed price for a sticky dixie cup of warm lemonaid served by two very enthusiastic little waitresses. This one isn't too bad. I've stopped for sugery water with a half a lemon spilling bitter seeds into my mouth before, gummy chocolate cookies and clumsily woven friendship braclets,- but this lemonaid even when sipped at it's ninty-seven degree base temperature is not that bad. 

Or maybe it's the smiles on the faces of the sweaty, sticky, juice-stained girls that sold it to me. As I sit at my desk in my air-conditioned office, I pray for a little of the carefree excitement I was served with today. Even though I'm aware that no matter how many clients walk in, I'll be paid the same amount, and even though I can't abandon my business to chase down the ice-cream man, waving my entire salary, my smile is still a little bigger.

I can't help but think that maybe those girls aren't charging enough.  

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