BS Ice Cream

I hear the approaching drone of the obnoxious «Pop Goes the Weasel» repeated over and over again accompanied by cheap tinny bells and I know that the BS truck is back. City workers, repairing the long forgotten, pot-​holed streets, gather near my home to stand in line, just as they did when they were little kids, and ask for the sno-​cones, popcycles, slurpees and ice cream sandwiches. The heat bears down and these orange-​hatted city employees are relaxing comfortably with their cold BS sweets dropping the wrappers where they fall. I smile knowingly, a smile that recognizes that the BS truck is temporary and soon I’ll hear those incessant bells and little weasels dwindle into the distance, into the nothingness of a clean, quiet world without all the BS.
(see photos for bs explanation)