Mmmm, the man on the bench says as he plungesa spoon into his mouth.Aaaah, his wife says as she pullsout 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 dancinglike 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 dryThe flavors are glazed on,and my tongue nearly falls off in anticipationFinally, 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.Yum.