Mr Frosty

Da da da dah da . . .

The sound was so loud now that I knew it must be over on Cedar Mill or maybe Edgemont Avenue, just a block away from our street.  I opened my eyes and looked at the clock.

3:33.

That had to be wrong.  What the hell was an ice cream truck doing out at this time of the night?  I sat up in bed and listened again to the tune.  But there was no mistaking it.

Da da da dah da …

It was Mister friggin Softy.  There was no doubt.





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)