A favorite of mine to draw as a child, perhaps at the end of the school year in art class using my free time in this manner: Upside down triangle sugar cone, latticed acutely. A big scoop (or two or three) of ice cream on top and perhaps it begins to drip down the side, melting in the hot summer sun. All main flavors represented, or maybe just pink strawberry because that is the most colorful, though the least accurate flavor as to what I would go to. While I do enjoy strawberry and do not mind it, vanilla and chocolate are my usual mainstays. That is, outside the realm of more niche flavors like mint chocolate chip (which might be my absolute favorite) or chocolate peanut butter or raspberry. There is always a mood at hand, always changing and never quite always exactly the same. Sugar molecules ricochet in my mind, right at the forefront and when they collide with the awareness of temperature, causes a brain freeze and then suddenly, Coach – I must sit this one out a moment. Soccer on the sidelines. Yelling at the ref. I miss the digestive ability to consume Choco Tacos and Drumsticks. I loved eating the end of the chocolate filled cone. Though the size of it never seemed worth the calories. Now I have pledge my allegiance to coconut milk ice cream or rather, “non-dairy frozen dessert”; I guess “ice cream” is trademarked. Banana split sundaes with cherries and whipped cream on top. These are the sweet things in life that we break for and make time for because honestly, what is life without ice cream? And what is ice cream without the pains and joys of life? And in this symbiotic relationship and nature of things is some equilibrium never quite talked about, yet understood. Because ice cream makes it all better somehow, or emotionally grafts over wounds where we sometimes do not even know how deep they go or how they will hang on to us throughout our lives, still a deep crevasse in psyche, holding traumatic ink begging the well to be dried up and home free. But I digress – Sugar cones over wafer cones always, big, fresh, sweet waffle cones when ice cream becomes a replacement meal because that cone can hold a lot. Kitchen sink promises. And Carvel ice cream cake with the chocolate crunchies. Forbidden pleasures, things I can no longer have. BOGO sundaes on Wednesdays at Carvel. So close to school, we had all the time in the world. To talk shit and get wet walnuts and caramel and fudge. Saccharine promises to make Spock drunk. I read it on Twitter yesterday so it must be true. Nails hammered into gingerbread coffin.