Tuesday, 15 August 2017


The ice cream man drove past my house in Woodstock today. 
First came the involuntary humming. Humming the tedious tune as it nags me out of bed, I leave it hanging in the drapes.
Dragging as I'd hear it approaching from a block away.

The van wasn't as vividly coloured as I remembered it to be and the tune that rang out of the speakers were strung out, crying from constant reruns. 
It's hot today. Warm and breezy. A lekker day. Easy.
Sometimes it's hot and damp and suffocating. A Heated debate between body and temperature.

Both scenarios beg for the ice. And the cream...you know what I'm saying?
But they're the only times he comes out.

Sometimes, like last week Wednesday, mid night, my flow was really cramping my style. Never mind the nine degrees low. I was craving the soft serve, of course, he didn't come through.

He drove slow enough and circled the block. Twice. Not today; I didn't run after the truck. Not today.

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