Melting

He found himself at the start of his new job, driving an ice cream truck that showed more than a few signs of rust. Which played incessantly merry music from the speaker on its roof whenever it was driven. Whereupon he went to sleep every night with it’s melody stuck in his head, which made him regret taking this job which paid so little. Did he really try his hardest to find other sources of employment before this? He couldn’t remember, probably due to the steady influx of narcotics that he had been pumping into his system ever since he was sixteen. Which may have had a role in preventing him from getting a better job. Whereupon he found himself back at the wheel of the ice cream truck. Which he drove hundreds of times through the same sleepy cul de sacs, attracting children with sugary treats. Whereupon he began to think about other ways to supplement his paltry income. He served Oxycontin to the junior high student for the eighth week in a row. Who he thought was going through her supply at a somewhat alarming rate. He tripled his supply. Whereupon he felt a tinge of shame for what he was doing. Which he resolved by taking another shot of morphine before work. By the fifth year he almost started to find the music endearing. Almost. Outside the local high school again at two o’clock with more treats. Business was good in both of his trades. One product paid the bills and the other did not. Sometimes he thought of what his mother would say if she knew what her son was doing. Whereupon he reminded himself that she had been dead for years. Another shot. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt that his life had any meaning. Back at the wheel of the ice cream truck. When was the last time he listened to anything other than that damn frosty jingle? Of course he sampled his product frequently. Which resulted in yet another late night bender. Whereupon he overslept for the hundredth time. Good thing he was a self made entrepreneur or he would have been fired fifteen years ago. Just enough time for a shot before rushing to school to make sure all of the kids didn’t go home empty handed. Left right right left down the familiar streets. Quick look at his old watch, whereupon a bolt of anxiety ran through his spine. Sales had been slumping, which made the likelihood of him affording rent this month increasingly small. Hopefully all of those times watching reruns of Tokyo Drift had rubbed off on him. The steel pedal pressed closer still to the floor of the ice cream truck. He didn’t even realize he had taken the boy’s life until the officer explained why he had been arrested at the police station later that evening.
Image © Brian Donnelly

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