In hindsight, probably the last minute dash for a raspa was mistimed at best. Probably I should have chosen a stand closer to home. Maybe I should have resisted the temptation to the sweet primary brights altogether. It all seemed like it was going to work, that I could have my ice AND make it to dinner on time, my crockpot ready to carry out the door. The street signals untypically changed in our favor. I chose the back road route and hardly a car could be seen ahead. And then, I squinted; sure enough, in the distance, the slight movement of the train gave cause for concern.
"I don't think it will last long."
"It's almost through, right?"
"It can't be THAT much longer."
"WHAT?! It's STOPPING?"
Yes. Stopped. Completely halted.
At that moment, "We might be late," turned to "Dang. We're late."
And we were.
But all in all, the raspa was worth it.
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