My roommate left a pint-can of ice cream in the freezer.

I was de-frosting the fridge and removing all those unnecessary food stuff we seem to acquire. I asked Anton the other day about tofu I remember him buying and he told me it already went bad, but there it was still in the fridge. I promptly took it and threw it away, alongside old ginger, chillis, and leftover cooked pasta that once again was dry.

And in the freezer was the ice cream. It's strawberry flavored and came from Yellow Cab, part of JV's rather excessive pizza purchase a few days ago -- I told him an 18-incher is too much for 4 guys, one of which doesn't consider a meal a meal unless rice is served. And it was too much; 3 days later, there was still leftover pizza.

The ice cream included another pint of chocolate, which was quickly emptied and would have served as a holder for Arabian tea leaves the mother gave me if only the original canister was airtight and prevented molds to get into the tea. I swear, a hypochondriac will not last 60 seconds in our apartment without running outside screaming for disinfectant.

The can of strawberry ice cream looked so forlorn in the freezer, I decided to take it out and ate it after I had lunch, as dessert. It was still soft and creamy despite being stuck in a freezer for nearly a week and having ice coat the sides of the can.

I realize it's been a while since I last enjoyed ice cream, and I ate it slowly while reading James Beard's entertaining essay on scrambled eggs.

That essay done and the ice cream finished, I went back to my rest day chores and cleaned the apartment. Someone left another empty packet of cigarettes near the desktop computer. I hurled it with considerable venom towards the trash bin and heard a satisfying plop! as it hit the wall and landed in the trash bin.

It started raining again.