Ice Cream Truck/ The Soviet
It calls me from down the street. It has a ping like radar in the movies. Faded stickers on the side of it, as one would expect. Taking a beating from the sun in the heat usually. But it's the end of March. It's not even April. I walk up to him. "Hi, what you want this time?" says the greying Armenian man. "We got laughers, screamers, poppers...you want something with nuts on it?" he gives that nervous, close-mouthed smile, and I see some spittle at the corner of his mouth. I laugh nervously. "Um, no, it's ok. I'll just take the one with three colors on it. Tangerine cherry." "OHH, you like popsicle. Good choice, young lady." The holographic wrapper crinkles in my hands as I pass over the money. "Don't be afraid to have good time!" he exclaims, enthusiastically. I'm unclear on whether his comment is sexually charged. I walk away slowly, deliberately unwrapping the treat. It's certainly hot enough fo...