Talent

Not your usual ice cream truck. Odd shaped, and the small motor sounded off-timed, like a cheap drone about to buzz into the side of a garage. No one was certain about the truck's route,  it came around only two afternoons, Mondays and Thursdays, also odd. No pied piper happy tune speaker music. Although a hundred old stickers cover the truck, only a small menu, maybe five things to order, all frozen, all a dollar. Big Stick, Drumstick, Double Orange-Cream Stick, Snickers Bar, and Fudge Bar. That's all. No soda, candy, or chips. Lew was the driver. Tall and thin, he'd climb in and out of the ice cream truck like a giant human insect, maybe a mantis. Lew had this certain talent, had it all his life- also a thing he can't talk about. As pecular as strange gets, after he'd hand you your choice, Lew stared at you hard for two seconds, then said a number. Usually a big number, two digits. Not always. Yet, no one paid much attention to Lew. At the same time, no one wanted a low number, not sure why.