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With a single glance, you could tell something was off. Usually the kids beside the ice cream truck were shuffling with excitement, offering money up to the window, and deliberating over the selection. But here they were frozen, as if the ice cream truck were a silent monster hovering over a fresh kill with a newfound guilt. There was only a light red stain on the front bumper. The boy’s body lay in a small clump, like a pile of dirty laundry. One child was gripping his mother’s dress, his face buried in her hips. He would eventually forget about the incident - years later, he would attend a perfectly good college, have a series of perfectly good jobs, and settle down with a perfectly good family. At the end of his life he looked back with no regrets.
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