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February 1, 2008
My sister scampers up the tree, I struggle up, and both of us wedge ourselves in. Safe from adult eyes, we’re ready to do what we came here to do.

I produce the little container from my pocket and twist off its metal lid. We sniff at the contents and deem it quite a nice scent.

We both take a pinch and put it between our cheek and gum, the way Rolling Stone magazine, from whose back pages we ordered it, told us.

Unfortunately it doesn’t taste as good as it smells.

We spit, scamper/struggle down, and go back home.