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Part II
It’s Ice Time…
Listen for it, ear to the open window where a stifling breeze pushes muggy air into the room. The summer has been hot, and relief comes in doses, a seasonal shower, a dip in the lake, a rare storm from the north. Ice time. There. The distinct roll of metal wagon wheels on brick. The start-stop jangle of the horse’s halter, the pull of the wagon traces and harness, the clatter of hooves. Ice time. Down the stairs, two at a time, careen off landings, ping-pong between railings, collide with other kids rushing to the street. Ice time. If you got to the wagon first, you might get chips of ice to suck on, before the icemen, with Popeye forearms, and rounded biceps, hoist the dripping blocks onto their shoulders and march into your home, where they slide the blocks into the family icebox’s top compartment. Fill the neighborhood with precious arctic chill. A foreman records payments, settles…..