As I sat on my deck watching the ice cream truck speed by, it saddened me that the tell-tale tunes from my childhood -- the ones which caused the thrill of finding a parent, older sibling, or kindly neighbor, begging them for money, and racing to catch the ice cream man before he drove on by; the only time little people were allowed to run in the street, which probaly make it more exciting than the ice cream itself --had been traded in for what sounded like a hammer beating an anvil. So I sat dejected as I realized the old fire-brigade sounds were coming from a modern ice cream truck. No doubt he was speeding to escape the angry stares.
