Ice cream trucks.

When I was a kid, I dreamed the songs. I would run with what little money I had to sneak a popsicle in before dinner. It was heavenly. Fast forward 15 years. I'm living in Brooklyn, and it's a miserable summer day, and my apartment is completely bare, save for some clothes, a futon I just bought, and a fan with a 4.5 inch diameter. My apartment is half a block from Fort Greene Park- a place frequently cruised by what seemed like a hundred thousand different trucks, all playing the music too loud. I went, for lack of a better word, insane. I had actually asked a friend of mine who was writing screenplays, that if he could work it in for me, that in some movie at some point in his career include a scene where I blow up an ice cream truck with a bazooka or some other massive weapon that makes things blow up big. Fast forward 5 more years. I'm in my apartment, enjoying a Strawberry Shortcake ice cream pop and watching the Simpsons. Suddenly, I'm reminded that I need a bazooka as I hear the truck pull down the street...

In my mind's eye, I ran into the living room, where we have a moderately turreted corner, loaded my weapon, and then cackled as the flames lapped at the sky.

In reality, I just sat here, thinking about how I was going to write about it.