Ice cream brings people together. It is often the perfect detail to finalize a great or awful day. I believe it is one of the few comfort foods your mother is not responsible of making, unless you happen to have a chef, instead of a tv dinner homemaker for a mother.
Compulsive gluttons, on one of those bad days, find the cure to their issues with a spoon, a pint of their favorite flavor, and occasionally, horrible television. But if one goes for ice cream accompanied, chances are you are having a nice day. We sought shelter in the famous establishment, the Creole Creamery, known for their homemade ice cream because of the gloomy weather outside. Gloomy is an understatement. It was raining Pterodactyls and Hitchcock birds. Still with an optimistic outlook, we intended to take our ruined outdoor fun, indoors. Little did we know...
Personally susceptible to the weather, a clear and sunny day, the kind of day designed for your narcissistic self, and not for the other 6 billion, became hell on earth, in a span of i don't know, because we were having such a good time. Thunder craved the merry attention and piercing, thick raindrops, orchestrated by sadistic clouds that were not able to show off their tenacity for over a week, spoiled everyones parade. I can usually dodge every droplet when it rains, but I met my match.
The typical viscous orange and purple haze of New Orleans, was distorted to a dark and most terrifying orange-grey, to not call grey black. There were hints of life, but little movement in the sky, incomprehensible because of the gay blue weather of hours prior.
New Orleans sky usually veils everything beyond the tallest building in the CBD, and it's no NYC. The lack of stars at times makes one thing that space is a lie, that galaxies are absent, and that everything revolves around the New Orleans dirty bubble that is it's biosphere. For hours, darkness shrouded everything, no perception of it's beginning or end. Fainting electricity, as though it were all solar powered, dwindling, straining one last time to absorb the last ray of sunlight that went unnoticed in this setting. All gone. Most difficult to dream big or look up when you have to face Chernobyl skies. Will we all look down in the future? Chins wont be up because layers and layers above were ripped, as though eon's old evolving canvases were suddenly dumped by us, the artists? Remodeled by destruction?
Combine a storm with a seemingly perfect day, power outage, darkness, delicious ice cream melting, petulant children screaming for ice cream in a bratty cacophony and yes, you got yourself a small apocalypse. I am not sure if the ice cream melted on its own, or if the children's screech, turned imps in the shadows, produced enough energy to melt it. They were determined to have ice cream, or soup, it did not matter.
At this point, I concluded that the persistent pleas and flooding tears of children would make every single bill in congress pass, as long as there is some sort of reward for their manipulative, but most persuasive efforts. Possibly the most effective diplomatic method. Rally all the children, tell them you are going for a walk, add a popsicle to one hand, tie a balloon to the other one. Ask them to cry or repeat a phrase they do not understand, and you got yourself the most powerful lobbyist without a salary. Millions of Gorbachev's.
My train of thought constantly derails.
We only notice things when they are too good bad, or ugly to be true.
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