I'm not talking about the song, though I do hate that song and Van Halen. I'm speaking of the actual Ice Cream Man. The driver of the Ice Cream Truck. The purveyor of overpriced, unhealthy, sugary treats. First you hear the faint yet unmistakable music. The kids and dogs have already heard (or sensed) it, charting its progress as it roams about adjacent streets searching for prey. Hunting must be good because almost every night, just before dinner, it comes. It gets louder, the kids get louder. Sometimes kids escape the confines of the backyard, oblivious to yelling parents, drawn to it like mosquitoes to a bug zapper. Alas dinner has yet to be eaten and the answer is usually no. Crying and complaining ensue. Thanks motherfucker!
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