"Good afternoon Ricky. It's a swelter!" he declared to the little boy waiting patiently at the side of his ice-cream van. Ricky stepped back as he raised the struts on the canopy. He seemed a moral citizen. Uniformed, clean shaven, grey haired. The children didn't know his name - he was only ever called The Ice-Cream Man.
"Yep, lotsa kinds want ice-cream today," he enthused, as he climbed behind the counter and looked out over the sun-drenched park. Ricky nodded, his money already held out eagerly in front of him. "Chocolate... double scoop!" said Ricky. And his wish was granted; with a product so cold a mist of condensation twirled around his fingers.
The Ice-Cream man was an adherent to the magic of yesteryear. Waffle cones were sparsely sighted. He preferred the old style cones with one, two or three receptacles. He took pride in his fairly standard flavours - no modern fashionable gimmicks such as salted caramel or candy crushed into the cream. These were home made ice-creams. He didn't much believe in preservatives or additives. Not for ice-cream. When it stays so cold and sells so quick.