ice cream
The Carvel on the corner of Church Avenue and East Second Street makes me sad. Every time I walk by it’s lit up like a living-room aquarium someone has put too many fish inside. Instead of algae on the windows there are posters advertising a new kind of soft-serve that’s supposed to taste just like brownies your mom used to make. Your mom, not my mom. I never see anyone inside except sometimes there is something like a family in line. They’re always deciding what to get. Last night it just so happened that one of these groups was there, and I tried to linger outside so I could see what they would order but they were taking too long, and I needed to go to the store to buy oranges and laundry detergent so I moved on. Across the street from the Carvel there is a ½ Price Outlet with at least three dozen racks of acrylic and polyester clothing and every time I walk by I think about the advertisements I get on Instagram for organic and natural fiber ethically sourced slow sustainable good for the environment clothing and then I look at the racks of the same pink sweater made of petroleum and I think I am just one person and there are so many of this sweater, and I guess I can decide not to buy it but somebody already made way more of this sweater than there are of me. I think it is okay to fill a need with something that is already waiting there. Maybe the people in line for ice cream are thinking the same thing.