The sun shines down on his yellow shirt as mommy holds the door open. The cool air is bracingly shocking inside the refrigerated ice cream shop. Other patrons lounging on the slightly sloping hills leading up towards the sidewalk lining the busy pseudo-highway full of cars during afternoon rush hour.
Mommy got herself mint chocolate chip. YUCK! The chocolate-vanilla swirled waffle cone I picked is just aweso-
The thought is interrupted as David trips on his own untied shoelace, sending the ice cream hurtling towards the cement in slow motion. As it lands and splatters outwards over his nice, new light up shoes, a frown, almost a caricature; a sterling picture of pouting, of anger, of everything wrong with the world.
And as the scream begins in his lungs, down deep from the very bottom, tears well and run heavily, past the air billowing out from his lungs. A heaving, drenched, messy face. And just like that…