Uncle Jerry’s idea of a swell birthday gift was a vintage four-gallon jar filled with his homemade pickles, with the raised brand name GREAT GAZEBO’S PICKLE FACTORY on its side; it looked like a large and imposing glass urn. “Guard this jar with your life,” he had said solemnly when he presented Nathan with the monstrous container of pickles for his tenth birthday one rainy Saturday pizza night. From Nathan’s perspective, there was a macabre nature to the jar. It reminded him of a Hollywood movie’s special effect, a container of alien eggs maybe, or some type of hideous plague.

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