I should not have.
It looked great, and it tasted like heaven. A swirl of fruit, caramel, and ice cream dissolved in my mouth to create what is hands down the best ice cream I have ever had, period.
For the next five minutes, angels danced, the Syrian military stopped following me, a train actually ran from Damscus to Amman, Salwa and family could speak perfect English, Erkan and Alia made Turkish coffee, etc.
And then, in a split second, the music stopped, and one of those dancing angels took a baseball bat to my utterly full stomach. I had to stop: I honestly thought I was going to vomit.
So ice cream in hand, I took a cramped minibus back to Haitham's apartment to save it in the fridge, only to get there and discover he had no fridge.
I sadly had to throw the best ice cream in the world away.
And then I slept, for a long, long time.
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