This is where memories are made. Years from now someone will say back when I was a kid my dad brought me here. My little sister's cone always melted on her t shirt.
This is where an older couple sit alone remembering their first child, their first house, and all they shared. The wife hands her husband a napkin to wipe the ice cream melted on his t shirt.
I have sat here with my collie and my partner. Both are my dearest memories. Now I share a bench or a table with kids, young fathers and the old couples. We mind our own business blind to our accidental table companions.
For a brief period in time we share the pleasant experience of East Coast custard. Teens seem to like the concretes, kids go for the brightly colored flavors, the young parents are the most daring trying new flavors. We seniors stick to our favorite served in a dish.
This is plain and simple pleasure. The custard is prepared well and has only one purpose--to enjoy. If you find fault here maybe you should lighten up.