Our ice cream truck looked something like this. ^_^
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The ice cream truck was the highlight of my summers when I was younger. Every afternoon I’d keep my ears peeled for its telltale jingle, quarters and one dollar bills in my pockets simply begging to be spent. When it entered my neighborhood, my sister and I would dash out the door with all the other kids and eagerly crowd around the گلابی van. I always got the Spongebob popsicle with the gumball eyes, but I always made sure I had a couple quarters left over because after we all got our ice creams, we’d pool our money to get something else.
I don’t remember what they were called, but آپ had to blow them up یا something and then apply pressure to get them to explode up with a loud bang. The group of us would buy maybe a dozen at a time, and when the ice cream truck started up again and drove away, we’d crowd around a little sewer grate thing. We’d puff them up, drop them in the sewer, and throw rocks at them to get them to explode.
I distinctly remember the ring of their faces as they were crouched in a circle, grins stretched from cheek to cheek.
There was Zack and his brother Jacob, two kids who I used spend hours with, playing kickball in their back yard. Zack had something of a crush on me when we were both younger.
There was Cassie, who named her cat something it took me years to learn to pronounce. Her younger brother Mason tagged along sometimes, but he was much younger than the rest of us and was never really welcome.
There was Phil, who kinda taught me to skateboard before he moved. He was a سال older than me, wore his baseball ٹوپی backwards, had spiky blonde hair, and always chewed bubblegum. I used to think he was the coolest kid I’d ever meet.
There was also Jordyn, a sleepwalker who tried to convince us she was psychic once. She was my best friend for a couple years, before I realized how damn annoying she was. Her sister Lexi, the same age as my sister, sometimes showed up as well.
And, of course, there was my sister and I.
“Do it, do it!” we’d egg each other on, glancing from the sewer to each other. “It’s your turn to do it!”
We took turns chucking the rocks, all squealing with delight when they went BANG, the sound echoing through the streets.
“Again, again!”
One after another the pouches would explode. When they were all gone and our popsicles were nothing but sticks with cheesy jokes printed on them, we’d jump to our feet and scamper off to play some game in someone’s yard – Capture the Flag, Stuck in the Mud, Baby in the Air, Run the Bases, whatever.
The اگلے day, when the ice cream truck rolled back around, the process would repeat again.
