"'Course," says Radar around a mouthful of potatoes. He rummages up the box and works his fingers under the flap to pry it open.
Inside aren't peppermint sticks, but something that looks a lot like the candy cigarettes he'd get at the Ottumwa general store sometimes. Thin, opaque white sugar sticks without a single hint as to what flavor they might be, even though there's also a little slip of paper inside that declares NINETEEN DELICIOUS FLAVORS TO TEMPT YOUR TASTEBUDS! Why nineteen and not a nice round number like twenty becomes more apparent as Radar keeps reading.
"'Nineteen delicious flavors to tempt your tastebuds, but beware of Sour Jack,'" he recites aloud. "Pass the box among your friends. Whoever finds him first loses.' Huh." He looks up at Edgar, intrigued. "I think it's a game?"
no subject
Inside aren't peppermint sticks, but something that looks a lot like the candy cigarettes he'd get at the Ottumwa general store sometimes. Thin, opaque white sugar sticks without a single hint as to what flavor they might be, even though there's also a little slip of paper inside that declares NINETEEN DELICIOUS FLAVORS TO TEMPT YOUR TASTEBUDS! Why nineteen and not a nice round number like twenty becomes more apparent as Radar keeps reading.
"'Nineteen delicious flavors to tempt your tastebuds, but beware of Sour Jack,'" he recites aloud. "Pass the box among your friends. Whoever finds him first loses.' Huh." He looks up at Edgar, intrigued. "I think it's a game?"