(xxviii.)

The Ice Cream Man sat, annoyedly, in the driver's seat of his truck. He surveyed the empty street, and, realizing there were no young children flocking toward him for Ice Cream, he pulled the previous month's Playboy out from under the seat.

He began to flip through the pages. He looked up, briefly; looked back down at his watch, and then back to the magazine.

He reached up, and flipped a switch.

Pop Goes the Weasel began blaring from the speakers on the truck's roof.

"I hope the little bastards get here soon," he mumbled, bitterly.

Clank, clank.

"...the fuck?"

Clank, clank.

He rolled the magazine up, and stuffed it back under his seat. He stood up, and moved toward the passenger door.

Clank, clank.

He looked to the back of the truck. "...the hell is that?!"

He wandered back. He checked the soft-serve machine; he checked the freezer; to no avail.

Clank, clank.

He opened the window.

"Anyone out there?"

Lorelei leaned down, from the roof of the truck.

"Hey... listen, I don't suppose you'd let us borrow your truck, now would you?"
"You want to... what?"

Lorelei swung down, into the truck. "Listen, man, you see this katana?" she asked, unsheathing it, "I really don't want to do anything drastic. All I want is the truck. As a matter of fact, I'll trade you. You get a brand new Toyota... um... I don't really know what it is, but it's a brand new Toyota. How's that sound?"

"But--"
"Don't make this any harder than it already has to be."



[chapter xxix]