The boy nodded, oblivious, and skipped away. Tony turned back to the ice, his face hardening. He grabbed the Blue Raspberry bottle—the signal. He poured a generous, unnecessary amount over a cup of plain ice and set it on the counter.
Little Joey grabbed his cup, his tongue already stained a radioactive yellow. "Thanks, Tony. My dad says this stuff is the only reason he doesn't move to Florida." [S4E20] Italian Ice
The sun was high, the ice was sweet, and the secrets were frozen solid. The boy nodded, oblivious, and skipped away
Thirty seconds later, the sedan door opened. A man in a suit that cost more than the cart stepped out, wiping sweat from his brow. "Hot one, Tony," the man said, reaching for the blue cup. He poured a generous, unnecessary amount over a
Tony chuckled, but his eyes stayed on the black sedan idling across the street. In this part of town, some things stayed cold, and some things stayed quiet.
The man took a bite, winced at the brain freeze, and walked back to the car. Tony picked up his rag and started wiping the counter, the rhythmic scraping of the paddle starting up again as the next kid in line stepped up.
"Tell your dad the Lemon’s on me," Tony muttered, "but tell him I need to see him about that ‘delivery’ tonight."