Sales were down at the Ice Cream Shack, so I hightailed it out of there and got a job selling used tires for a guy named Bill Packer near the New Mexico border. There wasn't much to drink in his fridge, so I made a trip to the SmartShop at the corner of Main and Liffey. The clean-shaven youngster minding the store was busy rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, by which I mean he was busy rearranging the cartons of candy bars displayed on shelves in front of the counter. A fine display, I remarked silently to myself.
About seven years later I was reclining on the black leather couch in my high-rise luxury condo overlooking the Hudson when I suddenly desired Milk Duds. Only then did I realize the opportunity I had wasted in that store seven years before, not to mention every single missed opportunity since. I picked up the phone from my coffee table and placed a call to the National Weather Service. I gave the zip code for Ainsworth, Arizona, and received the seven-day forecast for that area.