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"
Not
sour
at
all
.
"
Her
eyes
watered
.
Rita
passed
the
barrel
to
me
with
a
shove
.
My
turn
.
I
picked
out
the
smallest
one
I
could
find
and
put
it
in
my
mouth
.
I
ate
it
and
spit
out
the
pit
.
"
Mine
either
.
"
We
were
playing
our
own
game
of
gastronomic
chicken
.
The
tips
of
Rita
’
s
chopsticks
quivered
as
she
plunged
them
back
into
the
barrel
.
She
tried
twice
to
pick
up
another
umeboshi
between
them
before
she
gave
up
and
just
skewered
one
on
a
single
stick
,
lifting
it
to
her
mouth
.
The
fruit
trailed
drops
of
pink
liquid
that
stained
the
tray
where
they
fell
.
A
crowd
of
onlookers
had
begun
to
gather
around
us
.
They
watched
in
uneasy
silence
at
first
,
but
the
excitement
grew
palpably
with
each
pit
spat
out
on
the
tray
.
Sweat
beaded
on
our
skin
like
condensation
on
a
hot
day
’
s
beer
can
.
The
revolting
pile
of
half
-
chewed
pits
grew
.
Rachel
was
off
to
the
side
,
watching
with
a
worried
smile
.
I
spotted
my
friend
from
the
4th
in
the
throng
,
too
.
He
was
having
such
a
good
time
watching
me
suffer
.
Each
time
Rita
or
I
put
another
ume
in
our
mouths
,
a
wave
of
heckling
rippled
through
the
crowd
.
"
Come
on
,
pick
up
the
pace
!
"
"
No
turnin
’
back
now
,
keep
’
em
poppin
’
!
"
"
You
’
re
not
gonna
let
this
little
girl
show
you
up
,
are
you
?
"
