Vanilla Ice Cream

Along the polluted urban street we walk, intoxicating ourselves of the miseries and uncertainties of our lives. In short shorts and cotton T-shirts, we exchange laughter on our mishaps. We still celebrate life even if  it has given us deepest pain an already tormented soul could feel.

We stop in a graffiti filled shed and sat, still talking of merely nonsense.

A car stopped, its tinted door opened. In the gloomy flickering light from the lamppost, a face of a man in his forties showed up.

“How much for the night? ”

I smiled and answered.

“Thousands of hours spent on boring things which seemingly catalyzes our soul to change and let us grow. Values and morals fit for a gentleman, God loving heart and the courage to stand beside me when I turn into a storm.”

He slowly closed his window, ashamed.

“I was hoping he gets out of his car, I would love to buy him a vanilla ice cream.” my friend told me.


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