Ice Cream Truck.

Hot day, walking up to the store.
Little boy up the street, maybe 9 or 10. He's standing by the trash can at the curb wearing that little boy expression that says, "Mom asked me to do something a minute ago, but I can't remember what it is, and...oh, look! There's a bug!"
As I approach, we both hear chimes in the distance. Tinny music, bells, whistles. His expression changes--he is the wanderer in the desert catching sight of an oasis. He looks at me, but he whispers the secret to himself, as though he can barely believe it.
"Ice cream truck," he whispers.
"Ice cream truck," I confirm.
He tears up the steps to his front door. You never know when the tinny music will fade. "ICE CREAM TRUCK!"