Yost was a wisp of a young man, more tentative than most of his cohorts. As a boy he walked barefoot in shallow tide pools, too afraid to brave deeper water. The creatures he saw there were spiky crabs the color of strawberry jam, banana yellow sea slugs that stretched like taffy, and caramel brown eels self-hidden in crevices of rocks. Yost loved these tiny things. They weren’t adorable like seals or dolphins; they were harder to get to know, like him. All fearful, fragile and timid, apt to pinch and sting and bite.
He imagined tart treats that made people pucker. Sour lemon would cover sweet centers. Hot cinnamon would protect tasty goodness. Crunchy hard shells would hide gooey cakey insides. If people took the time to learn to love his candies, maybe they could learn to like him too.