Yesterday in the supermarket I noticed a thin old man wearing a Father Knows Best hat and suit. He was smiling while pushing his cart through the store. I glanced at the contents of his carriage: microwave popcorn, freezer pops, pop-tarts, an Entenmann's oblong coffee cake with wiggles of thin white icing on top, and a half-gallon of milk. I guessed this is what he lived on. At his age, he finally eats whatever he wants; the foods that make him happy.
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