The couple living in the aparment below mine has a phone that when it rings, sounds exactly like the "Brasil" ice cream-man's whistle in Asunción.
While I was a young boy living on Avenida Segunda, the ice-cream man would come by everyday in the summer, announcing his presence by blowing his whistle as he walked the street. As soon as I heard the sound, my mouth would salivate; indeed, I could taste the helado de coco (coconut ice cream) as I chased the ice cream man down the street.
Other neighbourhood kids too would pour out of their houses, without a doubt salivating at the prospect of getting their hands on their favourite flavour.
Whenever my neighbour's phone rings, I feel like getting my hands on 100 guaranies, running out the door and look for the ice cream man. But alas, no ice cream man's to be found. It's just my neighbour's damn phone.
While I was a young boy living on Avenida Segunda, the ice-cream man would come by everyday in the summer, announcing his presence by blowing his whistle as he walked the street. As soon as I heard the sound, my mouth would salivate; indeed, I could taste the helado de coco (coconut ice cream) as I chased the ice cream man down the street.
Other neighbourhood kids too would pour out of their houses, without a doubt salivating at the prospect of getting their hands on their favourite flavour.
Whenever my neighbour's phone rings, I feel like getting my hands on 100 guaranies, running out the door and look for the ice cream man. But alas, no ice cream man's to be found. It's just my neighbour's damn phone.
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