Ice Cream Spiritual

I hear summer's old fireworks, my blaring alarm, and single rotating fan. Jumping off the couch, I scourer for my keys, and slam off the alarm. It’s 2 p.m. on a Saturday and I am late for a date with peanut butter ice cream.

I havn't eaten anything for the past three days, (it's the price you pay as captain of the Spiced rum polo team), so I swipe up half a jug of Gatorade and the whole box of Fruity Pebbles before sprinting out the front door, and stumbling down the stairs. The July heat reminds me that I forgot to change out of my soggy Fugazi t-shirt and lime Puma's, as I down the last bit of power juice and another mouth full pebbles. After a couple minutes, or maybe more, my course drifts towards the sun. I go flying, straight past the ice cream parlor, and head for the river.

*check out the new Ponytail