So I'm buying my tea from Billy behind the counter. The store's a family-owned place. Billy opens and works mornings, a burly guy who looks less like a shopkeeper than the other thing he is, a volunteer firefighter in New Jersey. Knows his customers' names, knows their dogs' names, notices when you don't come in for awhile. Another burly guy comes in, puts a dime on the counter, asks for a book of matches. Just as I'm thinking, people charge for matches now? Billy gives him the matches, pushes the dime back. The guy looks blank. Billy says, "That's yours, buddy." The guy: "You didn't charge me?" Billy: "For matches? Nah." The guy picks up the dime, drops it in the tip jar on his way out. And I'm thinking, between those two guys and that one thin dime, that's the classiest act I'll see all day.