Last spring and early summer every single evening I would hear the ice cream truck. From then on I constantly had to have cash or change on me. He would taunt me sometimes because I could hear him but couldn't find him. . . or as soon as I would dig up 175 pennies he would drive off. Here are a few pictures from last summer at our old apartment complex. In one of the pictures I am racing this 4 year old little girl. In the other picture I am pushing to the front of the line. (I am the one in a black shirt and blue shorts . . . fyi). Please come back Mr. Ice Cream Man. Your my hero!