Today after going to a farmer’s market in a botanical garden, we stopped at an old school ice cream parlor for scoops of cookies n’ creme and coffee with rainbow sprinkles. The shop had black and white checkered linoleum flooring, silver shiny tables, and red and white striped decor. Collages of tiny photos of patrons covered the walls in huge frames, relics of the 90s and early 00s.
It reminded me of my favorite ice cream shop as a girl, Emack and Bolio’s on 79th and Amsterdam.
As a kid, the cones and scoops seemed enormous, and I always got the same order: grasshopper pie (mint chocolate oreo) in a cone with rainbow sprinkles. As a teen, I’d meet friends there after school or on weekend evenings, and we’d gossip about classes or boys as we walked around the block with our cones. As an adult, whenever I visit, I walk by and watch as families make a line to get their ice cream, and occasionally join in if it’s summertime and I get the craving.
Because there’s nothing quite like an ice cream on a hot day.
Writing With Abandon 
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