There have been other ice cream men in the neighborhood who had more varied music than this guy, but even more variety wouldn't be enough for me. How this guy stands the endless repetitions of "Turkey in the Straw" I don't know. It doesn't help that it's not the traditional mechanical music box that ice cream trucks sported when I was a kid, but one of those cheap digital synthesizers.
It's not the most pleasant of sounds, and it's not playing the most interesting of songs, but so far the guy hasn't pulled out a shotgun and started firing into houses, so I guess he has no problem dealing with it. I only have to hear it briefly each evening, which provides me with a sort of useful alarm to let me know it's time to feed the feral cats, but if I were driving that truck and had to listen to that noise hour after hour I'd probably be in prison for having committed mayhem by now.
Anyway, now that the ice cream man has gone by the evening is quiet, and the cats have been fed and watered, and shortly I'll be getting some dinner myself. I might have some ice cream for dessert— not from the truck, as the guy charges a small fortune for everything, but I've got some Thrifty Pecan Praline in the freezer. I finished off the pie yesterday, and won't replenish my supply until my weekend shopping trip. But this is still good ice cream weather, and will be for at least another week.
I think there was something else I was going to say, but I've totally forgotten what it was and if I sit around trying to recall it I'm apt end up woolgathering for hours. I'd rather eat.