It drifts in from out of the distance. At first you’re not sure of what it is. And then it rises in pitch, and the kids begin the circle the yard. Jumping and screeching themselves hoarse. The source is no where in sight, but those kids don’t care. Yelps and screams and tears of frustration cloud their faces. Demands and shouts of “I need it!” Fill the air. Then on the edge of your street you see it, as it turns in from off of the main road, it all its white, chrome, metallic gaudy glory. The mother fucking ice cream truck. Fuck!
It’s that time of year again. Time to buy over priced, low quality ice cream goods at a time that will spoil dinner or lunch, or both. Cash only. Arrives when you don’t want him, takes forever to fill your order, and the kids just can’t get enough. FML.
Greatwall Studios Graphic Design 