Few things do it for me like the sound of an ice cream truck rolling by my house. I am 28 years old now, and still, that warped and wobbly jingle pumping out of those crummy speakers makes me drop my rake and go dashing into the house for money without thought.
Last night was no exception. At around 7:45 p.m., an ice cream man named Ralph, from Thomasboro, stopped by the neighborhood and sold his icy confections to the masses.
Be sure to look for him this summer, as he plans on scouring the streets from 12:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. every day — unless the weather is rotten, that is.
“When it rains, it’s worthless,” Ralph quips. “I stay home.”
And I can’t blame him. Even though the temperatures only got to the upper 60s yesterday, the sun beating down was enough to inspire me to drop a fiver on an array of ice cream treats. There goes the diet. Again.