What began as creamy happiness quickly turned to a pink drizzle racing like a Formula One car over my hand and toward my wrist. The frozen comfort that was deleterious to my diet yet liberation to my mind toured down my arm in the humid sunshine. I looked around to see if anyone was watching me, for I would be declared a heteroclite if I started licking my own arm. Judging by our human covers, I was probably the most normal one around. The tired eyes of the others seeking just one moment from the heat, from the news, from the jobs, from needless needling of everyday life waited for their turn. If I were to reify one thought, what could I manifest to make us all happy? The thought passed like a cloud. I had to lick the cone at a record pace. I stopped, I smiled, and handed a napkin to the salty-eyed man wearing a sweat-soaked “Bun in the Oven’ t-shirt with a “only dead fish go with the flow’ tattoo. He smiled back.