Saturday, November 6, 2010

Welcome to the All-American City!

Placentia, tucked right under the chin of the 57 freeway, carries one of the best ice parlors I know of around town - and yes, I don't really know of many.

I paced myself to the parlor's entrance, taking in everything the so-called All American city could offer. In the distance I could only see a sign for Carne Asada on sale for 2.99, and the freeway jammed with cars all along its line - it was getting dark.

Inside, the fan whirled to a constant beat, and the dim place reminded me of Long Beachesque places. The two guys seemed to be around my age, blasting the music of All-American Rejects and classic rock. Their eyes were a bit familiar, I could tell that they probably did not venture too much out of town.

I handed him a a dollar with thirty five cents and bought myself a massive ice-cream with cone about the length of my arm. The seats were a bit worn of faded blue. The workers there were really nice, and they even turned on the lights for me as I plopped on a seat, taking out Sartre to read - the reading bogged my mind for a bit, since I was helping a student of mine understand it, I had to understand it first.

As i licked the last drops of delicious ice cream from the cone, I stood up to go. I smiled a quick thanks to him and hurried to my car, I had spent more time inside than I had intended. Yet, the only thing waiting for me was more traffic. Some of the ice cream around, reading and relaxing a bit before the drive, helped me prepare to face the monster ahead of me: traffic.

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