Sam's Ice Creamery, Huskisson. Wednesday
Double drabble again.
Sam looks up at the tinkle of the door's bell. Customers, an older lady, and a little girl in an enormous hat and a kaftan that could probably fit the lady.
"G'day, what'll it be for youse ladies t'day?" he asks.
"Could I please have the tropical sorbet, just one scoop," the lady replies in an Irish accent, like the boy Annalise brought in Monday. She bends to pick up the girl so she can see. "What would you like Flora?"
"Bubblegum please, Grandma."
"Hot enough for ya?" Sam asks as he scoops ice cream into cones.
"It's rather too hot," she replies. "Flora's mother hasn't been outside in the daytime since we arrived, and I honestly don't know why I allowed my younger children to talk us all into coming. It's beautiful, but we should have come in winter."
"Why d'ya think I run an ice cream'ry?" He puts the second cone into the holder. "That'll be $6.50."
She rummages in her purse and extracts a twenty, nearly hands it to him, but then swaps it for a ten.
"Sorry," she explains as he makes change, "you have the colours of tens and twenties around the wrong way here."