Jingling the jangle of the ice cream truck shingles, three small sub-humans awoke from their sleeper mode. Running out into the street the children lined up in a flimsy wall of flesh and still growing bones to bring to a dangerous halt the dozing driver who was careening ever so slowly down the suburban street with one hand on the wheel and the other tugging rope. Minutes later the operatives walked toward the rear of their domicile carrying unmarked white packages with a mysterious mist of sorts emanating from the lining. They were not of the usual ice cream box variety.
In another location, more preadolescents were spotted waiting in an abandoned car park lot. Their skulls are assumed to have been tested and weathered many impacts to their foreheads given their size and stature and the fact that they were seen for at least an hour bouncing a basketball off their heads — or heading - as if it were a cheap, out-of-the-petrol-station-rack football — otherwise known as soccer balls. They did not seem to suffer any ill effects of the pounding of their foreheads for nigh on an hour.
A third and even more unremarkable sighting was that of a "family" of children and the "neighbours'" kids jumping whole heartedly from the first floor balcony of one of the many multistorey residences in the crammed streets of the whitest powder money can possibly buy. Cars passing below were not even aware of such dangers presented to them on this day of afternoons.
Seemingly to be able to withstand much pain compared to their counterparts of years gone by, they present a foreshadowing of harder times to write by.
Written on Monday, 19 May 2003