31 flavors.

I remember my grandfather, who always wanted to take me out for ice cream. I remember him pacing the long wooden boardwalk, watching me play gleefully in the golden California sand as only a child can. 31 flavors. 31 flavors always seemed a world of endless possibility to me. I heard a man was murdered there. A man murdered in a place so full of possibility. How I could never come to terms with that. How sad I was, thinking about him as my sandcastles washed away in the moonlight.