The Man Who Sold Ice-Cream

He was scrawny and thin, with an old holey red cap that read: BANGKOK IS THE BEST PLACE FOR ME in faded letters. He had a wrinkled, coarse face that looked rather vulgar. His freaky hair was grey and stuck out in tangled tufts from beneath the cap. His almost emotionless eyes looked hungry, in the wrong sort of way, and his clothes were all limp and torn and in tatters. His papery hands held his cart, which had once been a lively variety of bright colours but had long since faded to a dull gray. If you looked closely, you could see the long ago colours, but who would ever look closely?

Would you look closely?

The man was Thai. He lived in the darkest but somehow also the brightest part of Bangkok, but he wandered around all of the beautiful place he lived. From the start of the BTS to the end...and more!
The man, though scrawny, could be strong if he wanted. He ate a hearty meal every time an ice-cream left his cart. The man sold ice-cream.

There were various different ice-creams in the cart. Paddle-pops, Cornettos. . . you name it, he had it. His Baskin-Robbins had previously screamed they were fifty baht, but there tops looked ripped and there were stickers on them reading Two Hundred Baht. The man sold them at that price.

He was a dirty, surly man of about sixty but he looked four hundred years old. . . minimum. His favourite food was meat of a grizzly kind. He was always hungry for it. . . he felt famished before he ate it, and after he did his hunger was only slightly gone. If only he could eat fifty bodies of these creatures every day would his hunger relent. But you don’t make much as an ice-cream seller on the streets. Not that he didn’t have any friends. A blobby english-man who went by the name Brad was the ice-cream sellers only friend apart from his favourite meal. The ice-cream seller always thought of his meals as friends before he feasted on him. Or at the very least, his food was not his enemy.