Tiredly, you close the door of the cab you just got off.

Another day done at last, and you want nothing more than to just lie down and sleep the night away.

Most unfortunate that you still have to take a few steps up your apartment, but a pointless complaint really. You're right over there after all.

The same street, same streetlights, same buildings, same ice cream cart. A quaint, and humble side of the city you call home.

...

Hold on, why's there an ice cream cart at this time of the day?

Your gaze trails back to the mentioned cart, and there it was, a plain grey ice cream cart, operated by what must be the palest boy you've ever seen.

An eyebrow is raised, curiosity piqued, but you are unwilling to deal with such shenanigans this night, and so you put this odd sight to the wayside and trod on to the stairs.

And atop, you finally arrive back at the sidewalk.

What?

You look behind you and see nothing but a road, not a peep of a stairwell anywhere. You blink.

...With great caution you turn slowly.

...Nothing behind you. Did you hit your head on your way up? Did you even go up? A part of you wishes that if you did hit your head, that it was lethal and not whatever this "the world is moving" business.

...You hear tapping. Fingers lazily drumming on a hard surface. You face the source and once more find yourself looking at the pale child on that ice cream cart.

He was now looking at you, almost boredly, idly tapping away at the top of the cart.

Huh. You squint back at him. Watching the child at the corner of your eyes, you begin your ascent up the stairs once more.

And arrive back at the sidewalk. Again. Alright.

You face the boy. He raises an eyebrow at you. You exhale softly, and walk towards him. You've seen enough movies to know where this is going.

Now standing by the cart, you are able to take a more certain observation of the "vendor". His height reaching somewhere below your shoulders, neat hair, skin white as snow, dressed in a crisp white dress shirt and black suspender pants, and to complete his look, a black bowtie and a small top hat.

You can admit he looked quite dapper in his little get-up.

The boy taps the cart, as if asking you to get his product. You can see a sticker of an ice cream cup with a chocolate bar next to it pasted on to the side.

You don't see a price anywhere, and before you could ask, a cup of ice cream was already in the boy's hands, now held out to you.

You stare at him. He stares right back neutrally. With slight hesitation, you take the offered cup. You look down at it as if it will possess some great truth to the current situation unfoldi-

Movement in front of you lights your nerves for a moment. In surprise, you jolt your head upward to meet...a small disposable spoon offered to you.

Oh. A bit embarrassed, you take the spoon, the boy not reacting to your nervousness as he takes a bite from his own cup of ice cream. What? You blink as you process that somehow the child was already eating his own cup of ice cream. From where you can see, it is half full.

Alright...? You level a questioning gaze at the boy. He tilts his head back at you, and scoops up another spoonful of chocolate.

You may or may not be overthinking this entire thing. Peeling back the cover, you unveil the treat inside. Chocolate, as you expected.

With your flimsy plastic spoon, you make a dent in the cold snack and eat it.

...It's chocolate. Wow, it really is chocolate. That's...good?

The boy, now looking upwards at the sky, feels your gaze upon him. He looks back at you, and with his hand and a spoonful of chocolate, gestures to the bench to his right.

A good idea really. You make your way and sit down, releasing a tired exhale as you do. Continuing to eat, you take a few glances at the weird ice cream vendor, who has resumed looking back at the night sky, legs kicking back and forth atop his little seat.

It was oddly peaceful. Your spoon descends for more only to clack against something. Empty. Oh.

With a small frown you turn to the little boy, who was now holding out a small garbage bag towards you. It was also empty. He shakes it slightly in response to your staring.

Refined little lad, ain't he? You put container and utensil into the bag, said bag immediately disappearing in front of your very eyes.

The boy gives you, not one, but two thumbs up. How generous. It seems he finds your behavior very cool.

You give a thumb right back at him. He nods, and in a blink, he was no longer there.

...Huh.

Slowly getting out of the bench, you go back to the stairs leading up to your flat.

You arrive at the second floor. Excellent. Wasting no time, you walk to your front door and get in.

Home at long last, you flick open the lights-

-and immediately step on something that makes you slip and fall, crinkling whatever was beneath your feet and landing atop what feels and sounds like plastic.

You also now appear to be drenched in a cold liquid now trailing all over you.

You slowly tilt your head to the side and come face to face with an ice cream cup, opened and now spilling right next to your cheek.

You tilt your head up and look down into your small hallway and see many more ice cream cups stuffed and stacked into your entire living space.

Some were even balanced atop precarious areas like your T.V., and you are very certain that's a stack of them reaching to your ceiling in the corner.

You let out a defeated sigh, and let your tongue dart out to lick some of the ice cream dripping from your forehead to your lips.

Looks like you made a new friend today.