The Crone is conflicted. For years, she and Gretel have patronized Itchy Ankle’s soft serve ice-cream parlor, conveniently located beside the laundromat and tucked just behind the car wash. Itchy Ankle’s lone entrepreneur owns all three plus a local bar. Between the washing of clothes and cars, and the serving of pints of beer and quarts of ice cream this local tiny Trump has the Itchy Ankle economy pretty much sewn up. Or did have, until the advent of a new ice-cream shop. There, they make their own ice-cream and offer sugar-free and low-fat options that provide the thrill of dessert with none of the guilt. The strawberry contains real strawberry and the banana contains real banana. Other options  include Pistachio Surprise and Creme Brulee. The Crone is reasonably confident this is the only time that Creme Brulee has ever been offered on the redneck riviera and tomorrow she intends to try it. The sundaes and the scoop sizes are named for big shots from the Bible. You can have a Holy Moses served in a David or Goliath. There’s a bible quiz on a blackboard on the wall to entertain you while you are waiting for your float, shake or split. Today the question concerned the second book of the Old Testament–Exodus. Missing a trick, they didn’t ask the Crone to come up with the answer and then use it in a sentence. If they had,  she would have said

 ” There’ll be an exodus from Itchy Ankle Soft Serve once word spreads about your ice-cream”

There is nothing evangelical about the original ice-cream emporium–even the prices are ungodly–but the Crone won’t entirely desert the owner who has (soft) served her so well for so long. Well, she may desert him for dessert, but when she needs a drink she’ll straight for his bar. It’s church folks for sundaes, and liquid inquity the rest of the week in Itchy Ankle.