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Dead End MAG
We sat in a drowsy daze, blowing cool air on each other’s necks. That’s when we heard the jingle. I jumped up, my thighs sticking to the deck, grasping a dollar in my sticky summer hands.
Together we ran, our bare feet slapping against the hot tar of our dead-end street. Seeking refuge in the shadows of leafy trees, the truck whizzed past. That was our game.
Our hair billowed as we ran. I stopped. He had won again. Some days he would let us win, but when he didn’t, the ice cream tasted that much sweeter.
![](http://cdn.teenink.com/art/June08/PalmRoad72.jpg)
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This article has 53 comments.
I kind of wish that you would give us a bit of exposition, but keep up the good work.
Also (sorry to advertise) could everyone please check out my new story called "Purple-face Tom" it is my 1st posted work on this site.
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