Lesson 7: Not everyone has ice cream trucks.

Anne and I spent the day in the city. It was hot. I have not yet experienced a seasonal change so my brain registered this hot day as a summer day. On our last stop we had to hunt for a spot to park and to do so we made our way through a neighborhood. Children were playing and hustle and bustle was all around. We got out of the car and were walking down the street; sweating, talking and moving our way to the store. All of the sudden I heard an ice cream truck. Unbelievable. They have ice cream trucks in Japan? Now I thought this was strictly an American thing. I listened again. Yes, it was that music box sound. High pitched,crackly,and recognizable only as the ice cream truck music. Then I smelled wood smoke. Wow did that smell good. But my brain was thinking ice cream,and it was counting yen. It was arguing with itself over chocolate and vanilla bars or soft and creamy cones, maybe a popsicle. I hadn`t had a popsicle from a truck in years. Then I spotted the truck, it was on our street and coming at me. Hot damn, I`m going to get a soft cream twist. Then I smelled wood smoke. The truck was just as you would imagine; small with those sides that are up, open and ready for business. I waved the truck down; big smile, appreciative bow. As the truck turned the corner and stopped,I saw an open fire in the back, a stack of wood on the side, and a grill full of foil wrapped somethings. "Kon-ni-chi-wa" "Kon-ni-chi- wa" Bow. Bow. He hands me one, takes his 500 yen, and I walk away with a... potato. Chit. A potato truck.