“Two dollar a plate or a gram of gold dust,” he snapped like one of them nasty turtles in swamp lakes, and served two more customers while he was talking. “You take silver?” I held up one of them spoons. The man squinted at it then laughed, all high-pitched and mean. “Get out of here, I not a charity!”

“Two dollar a plate or a gram of gold dust,” he snapped like one of them nasty turtles in swamp lakes, and served two more customers while he was talking. “You take silver?” I held up one of them spoons. The man squinted at it then laughed, all high-pitched and mean. “Get out of here, I not a charity!”

— Beth Lewis