A peaceful sunny spring afternoon broken by the archaic (ring)tones of an ice cream van circling the perimeter road in pursuit of custom. The music stops, as does the van. Silence and stillness (the imagined ghostly children of decades past running towards the vehicle in a pied piper scenario). No one approaches and, like a lone trawler on an overfished sea, the ice cream man weighs anchor and drifts away in the forlorn hope of a more lucrative spot elsewhere.