He was creepy. The hairy man with yellowed teeth smelled awful – a mix of cigars, beer, and sweat. He didn’t talk, only grunted. He pursed his lips, glared, and heaved a scarred wooden crate onto his shoulder. The seltzer man scared me. He wasn’t the candy man or the smiling mailman. He didn’t bring bakery cupcakes or milk from the dairy. He brought seltzer in heavy clear, green, and blue bottles to my home in Queens, New York
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