His parents had taken him to a rally when he was small. He had been struck by the colorful buttons, foam hats, posters on sticks, and a slogan.
“No one can have peas until everyone has peas.”
Nothing adults said made much sense, so in that regard the remark was unremarkable. But people had cheered, and he didn’t much care for peas. This force, he decided, must be countered. Logically, if he disrupted anyone’s peas, he would disrupt everyone’s.
Decades later, the experience had buried itself in his subconscious. He didn’t question why, but he was unusually content as a grocer. His contentedness gave him confidence. His confidence made him cheerful. His cheerfulness made him likable. His store was forever understocked in legumes, but when he ran for mayor he easily won.
The townspeople generally felt his inspiring presence more than made up for their relative lack of peas.
