“I don’t like boba tea,” I state plainly. “Have you ever had a boba tea?” she asks. “No.” “Then how do you know you don’t like it, if you don’t try it?” “I don’t need to try cocaine to know I don’t like it.” “Sure, you do.” “I’m sorry?” I stop dead in my tracks, the sandwich board in one hand, a gallon of milk in the other. “Have you tried cocaine?” “Of course. How else would I know if I liked it or not?” she says,
