“There’s the ice cream truck,” one of the kids said as we passed a house. Apparently, a neighbor has secured summer employment.
“The ice cream man is mean,” said another kid. I asked why, and they went on to describe how he never stops by our house and how Neighbor Girl said she was waiting for him, and he slowed down, but then he sped up and didn’t stop for her.
I thought perhaps these trucks have set routes and that our street was not on his, but before I had a chance to suggest it, Jenny offered her own idea:
“Maybe he had too much beer the night before.”