The piercing music had to have been in here somewhere.
It wasn't.
A carnival-like medley of songs including "London Bridge Is Falling Down" tore through the afternoon silence like a knife.
It wasn't a phantom television or radio.
It was coming through every open window, loudly and painfully clear.
Every ambulance siren should be so loud.
I followed the sound to the living room window, and looked out.
It wasn't a malfunctioning car alarm.
It was the ice cream man--or should I say the ice cream lady in a minivan.
The minivan hatch was lifted, and she was selling from the back of the vehicle, as the music blared. Could she get away with that anywhere else in the city, or is the "unmarked ice cream mini-van lady" only indigenous to east of the river?
I remember when the ice cream man wore a crisp white uniform and hat. There was either the spanking clean truck with two shiny silver doors on the outside, or the top loading freezers inside that held yummy frozen treasures.
I remember when the ice cream man wore a crisp white uniform and hat. There was either the spanking clean truck with two shiny silver doors on the outside, or the top loading freezers inside that held yummy frozen treasures.
Be it Good Humor or Tasty Freeze, the sound of the ice cream man was welcoming and happy.
We would hear the bells, scramble for our spare change, and run joyfully outside.
Today it was just noise, and instead of scrambling for spare change, I scrambled for my cell phone in case I needed to phone 911.
I don't know when, but at some point the sound and look of the ice cream man got a make-over.
I love ice cream, but I guess, I'm not 7 any more...lol
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