947. He was pressing down hard on the handle of the knife in order to split the tiny candy bar in two. You're pushing your luck, he told himself. Nah, it's a Ginsu 2000, he told himself. Although 30 years old, it was guaranteed for 50 years. It had stayed sharp and strong over the years, cutting everything as straight, quick, and onionskin thin as he wanted. He couldn't imagine a better steak knife. But it lost the battle with the unyielding caramel‐colored chunk of "Korivka." Feeling something give, he saw the serrated silver blade form a mortal angle with the cheap black plastic handle. Why, he wondered, did he always have to test everything, knowing it might break? And then, breaking it, immediately regret testing it. And then immediately test the next thing that he didn't really want to break—or maybe really did. What's wrong with me, he wondered. 6.5