by Ravi
REVISED FALL, 2012
It’s 1975 and I’m in North Country Coop on the West Bank in Minneapolis – a naive pre-med student at UofM. Coop’s were pretty “seedy” back then – roughly tossed together and staffed by the real political anti-establishment animals – called hippies.
“Yea, man – that stuff is WHITE DEATH” barked the bearded, ever-so-slightly odorous co-op worker in his soiled white apron chatting energetically with another shopper. “People just don’t know – white sugar is government trying to dumb us down and manipulate us – just feed ‘em, White Death and you’ve got control!”
“Sheesh,” I though to myself, “what a wacko.” I bought an odd-looking, lumpy cookie, trotted out of the store and took a big bite. “Plaaaaa!” I exclaimed, spitting it out on the sidewalk, the taste being what I imagined a mouthful of peat moss and gravel would offer. Sugar was definitely verboten in that hippi-hollow.
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