I watch him from across the street. The ice cream cone in his hand leaves pink drops on the pavement.
I watch as she bends down, tenderly wiping the sticky mess around his beaming smile. I watch my son slip his hand into hers and walk away with his mother.
Megna Murali is an amateur writer who has vowed to escape corporate stoogedom through the power of words. She likes to put one word after the other and watch magic happen. Her blog is the outlet for her chaotic creativity.