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Corona in my day meant fizzy pop, usually the color orange, which my grandfather used to keep cool in his coal shed. It was always in a bottle, never a can, and one day I was wearing my best cotton dress when I decided to help myself to a drink.
It was always a close call but this particular day I got dirty and being no way I could cover my guilt at the cacophony of accusations from my aunt, I didn’t deny it believing honesty was the best policy.
I felt my grandfather caress my tear stained cheek and tell me not to worry.
The next time we walked down the numerous columns in the supermarket, he loaded up the shopping cart with two extra bottles so that I no longer had to covet his supply as I had one of my own.
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