It was too cool for ice cream. The only reason to buy icecream today was to use it as a snowball and aim it right for Jimmy Little's fat face. Still, the ice cream man drove his truck with his big parka on, the heater from the camper-turned-frozen-dessert-stand humming, humming, humming with intensity. He was either whistling or simply trying to heat up the truck with his breath. Little does he know that blowing air with your mouth in a little "o" makes cold air, not warm. I learned that last year in Mr. Issac's fourth grade science class. So anyway, I stared at Mr. Ice Cream Man driving through the snow, coming down, coming down, coming down fast. I hoped he was driving somewhere warm, maybe a home with his Ice Cream Wife and Ice Cream Children. But I knew he wasn't. Jimmy Little says he hasn't stopped driving since he died in 1964.