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I have a confession to make.
My name is John and I am a tomato bum.
For most of my adult life, I have been able to slip through the summer rarely spending money on the most wonderful of summer fruit — the vine-ripened, but still carrying flecks of dirt, homegrown Kentucky tomato.
For me, homegrown tomatoes are the crystal meth of agriculture. Usually, the first taste is free but after that, they start charging. And as soon as you’re are done with the first one, you crave more.
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