Ten dollars, no, nine! Too low, have to decline. How much did you have in mind? How about twenty? No way! I can get buy it brand new. What is this verbal dance that buyers and sellers do?

I am a tower built of layers, held between two matching walls. I’m the hero of the lunchbox, but I fall apart if you lose your grip.

What vegetable is worth your monthly wages?

I sound like something that beats in your chest, but I’m made of stone and warmth instead. I glow in the center of where you reside, often called the heart of the home, warm and wide.

I have hundreds of teeth but cannot bite. I am shattered into pieces before I am whole, And the more of me you find, the less of a gap remains.