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Mmmm, the man on the bench says as he plunges
a spoon into his mouth.
Aaaah, his wife says as she pulls
out a clean white spoon from her lips.
The woman at the front of the line grins.
A little girl to the left of me is dancing
like a ballerina, with a cup in one hand and a spoon in the other.
Ice is shaved into thousands of pieces.
Conversations have no meaning.
I hear an occasional mmmm or aaaah.
Finally, it is time to make a selection.
Sweet Strawberry?
Wet Watermelon?
Merry Margarita?
Ripe Raspberry?
I know, Gushing Grape.
I watch the ice being poured.
My lips go dry
The flavors are glazed on,
and my tongue nearly falls off in anticipation
Finally, my cup is full,
and I am bouncing like a wild kangaroo.
The counter girl places it on the cool counter.
I grasp my treat and dig in.
My taste buds take flight.
Cold ice graces my tongue,
as the sweet flavors rush down my throat.
The taste gets better.
Before I know it, my cup is empty.

The Cool Counter Nicholas Wilsdorf
Nicholas Wilsdorf, 12
Rolla, Missouri