Only because I had run out of my ever present wrigley's sugarless boring gum, did I even consider to stick my hand into the company goodie jar on the receptionist's desk. I came away with a fistful of deadly sugar nougats — Super Bubble bubble gum.
Shucking the garish, red-white-blue-and-gold waxy wrapper, I popped one into my mouth and was instantly transported.
No longer was I tucked under a computer desk, scraping out a new design for yet another book cover for the latest in a series of "aliens are angels" books by our friendly neighborhood nut job. No, i was seven years old, and I was in Joe's Barbershop, with a fresh haircut, and a mouth full of gum for the patience on my part. I could smell witchhazel, shaving cream, and shoe polish. I could see the GQ magazines mixed among the Field&Streams and Archie comics. I could feel the prickly scattered hairs migrating down the back of my t-shirt.
Now I remember what gum is. Cavities be damned.
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