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Frustrated ice-cream

Came home in a mounting fury.
Was about to tear my room apart.
Was about to rip into the next fucker who spoke to me funny – that 154 driver was speaking wierd Hokkien; like a damn challenge until he suddenly quieted down.
Cooled down considerably as I considered the source of my anger. Merely frustration at not finishing work.
That’s all. Chey.
Washed. Ate. It drizzled.
A kid in black and a kid in white rolled up a bone-white styrofoam box infront of my house gates.
"Sorry to disturb you Sir! I am Trying to asdjdw ,gregseg…."
"WAIT." Got up in a huff. Tore open the front door and stormed out to the gate.
The boy in black had a big head and stupid eyes. If his mouth opened, I think his tongue would have lolled out. All the classic signs of Down’s syndrome.
He waited for the other kid. The one in white. He wore a dirty looking shirt and the drizzle had made his hair spikey.
"Sorry to disturb you Sir. I’m just trying to earn some pocket money. Please buy my ice-cream."
He lifted the lid. In the white box were smaller boxes of magnolia ice-cream – lurid purple, pastel yellow, easy green and barely brown.  
"The new flavours are perpermint and…" He shifted a newspaper full of something to show me his other flavours. Cold air eddied within the box.
"I don’t need ice-cream."
"Please sir. We only make a few dollars for every box that we sell. We need the pocket money."
"Sorry, I don’t need it."
The boy in white slowly pulled the lid close. He murmered, "Thank you, sir." to the box.
He pulled the cords tight and rolled the styrofoam box behind him. The mongoloid kid went with him.
I went back into my big, big house.
It drizzled. Rained. Poured.
A little money for lunch if they could sell all 12 boxes of ice-cream.
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