After getting some webbing for my bike at REI, I slowly peddle through the upper-middle-classed people and prim rainbow-cloud shops. Something tells me to go for ice-cream, I peddle back and walk into Ben and Jerry’s; I crush at the cross-branded Lennon “Imagine” logos. I see a hippie tie-dyed-colored, framed print-out saying “If it’s not fun, why do it?” Absolutely, I think, taking a picture of it, and ponder my grandfather’s “If you aren’t having fun, get the hell out of there.”
They don’t have cake cones, so I settle for a waffle cone. They don’t have peach ice-cream, so I settle for Boston-creme. I walk out. Kids are doing karaoke. There isn’t a seat available. I saunter past the lit water fountain that 20 kids are soaking up, as deeply into their souls as as deeply as their clothes are soaked.
I sit down and a baby pit-bull puppy comes up for a pet. After a genuine moment, his owner, a young Asian woman, pulls him away from me and she shepherds his further advances towards me.
I enjoy the cone as I take in the pure delight of running into the water and innocently taking on a song in public. As I leave, a child sings Maria Carey’s Hero and it all hits home for me as I bike off.