that familiar dinging of the ice-cream
truck
outside,
a familiar chiming sound,
out of tune,
and the screaming
of kids
running out of the houses
to buy a nutty buddy,
a popsicle, or creamsicle,
or a caramel ice cream bar,
i run over to the couch
to dig
between the cushions for
fifteen cents.
old habits are hard to break.
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