I'm in the village candy store on a warm spring day.  The windows have little kitchen curtains, the floors are hardwood and scuffed, the screen door slams every time someone closes it.  The owner is at the back of the store making divinity, and her son is chewing some&nbsp;<a data-hook="product-link-linked" class="a-link-normal" href="/Clove-Gum/dp/B0002268MA/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_rvw_txt?ie=UTF8">Clove Gum</a>, tending the counter.  I can smell the divinity and I get a whiff of the chewing gum.  I'm trying to decide if I want some licorice sticks or some root beer barrels.  Or maybe some&nbsp;<a data-hook="product-link-linked" class="a-link-normal" href="/Sugar-Babies/dp/B000V8W9FA/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_rvw_txt?ie=UTF8">Sugar Babies</a>. . .