With apologies to Raymond Carver.
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My friend Kevin Maddox was talking. Kevin Maddox makes a fortune selling novelty pickleball T-shirts on Etsy, and sometimes that gives him the right.
“The kind of tariffs I’m talking about, the other country pays,” he said.
The four of us, my wife, Debra, and Kevin’s wife, Bridget, were sitting around his kitchen table drinking. On the table a case of Truly sat cooling on a bed of ice.
Debra lifted a can from the ice and cracked it open. “That’s not how tariffs work, though,” she said.
“My God,” Kevin said, a bit unsteady. “Don’t be silly.”
It would be night soon. I took a drink and held the can up to the dusky diluted sunlight seeping through the window: Wild Berry. My favorite flavor. The truth is, I thought Kevin was wrong. But by then our talk had grown old, and we were so young. What did the four of us, what did anyone know about taxes levied by governments?
“Who can say what a tariff is and what it isn’t?” I said.