"Grape Popsicle," I said. I hadn't had one for years. It was hot. I was in the hospital waiting surgery.
Rick was keeping me company. I still had on my street clothes.
"Don't they have them here?" he asked.
I honestly didn't know because it was the first time I'd had a grape Popsicle urge since I moved to Switzerland in 1990 (and probably long before) so I hadn't looked.
We talked about the ice cream man who came around the neighborhood, ringing his bell. My brother and I would stop what ever we were playing and con my mother or grandmother for whatever a Popsicle, ice cream sandwich or cone would cost. It worked more than it didn't.
Rick went on a Popsicle safari and found a whole bunch of types at Migros. He brought me a strawberry juice Popsicle.
Boy was it good.