The sun,
Harsh, unforgiving, on my face,
Scorching my arms,
Legs,
Every inch of exposed skin reddened, sore.
I spy the ice cream shop across the street.

I enter.
I order a double mocha ice cream on a sugar cone.
It’s as expensive as any ice cream in the city,
(Really fucking expensive; like ten dollars or some shit).

I exit the shop and lift the cone to my mouth.
I do so too quickly; the ice cream is already melting.
It falls from the cone,
It struggles to reach the ground through the heat
(At least that’s what it seems like).
And my heart breaks.
Watching that ice cream,
That beautiful, ten-dollar fucking ice cream,
Fall offensively slowly
To splatter on my pant leg.