It wasn’t that Susan hated vanilla ice cream so much as she despised Hank. The white smoothness of the confection reminded her of his pale, flabby skin. The subtle hint of bourbon had the scent of his breath, which always had a slightly spicy smell though he hadn’t touched a drop in more than 10 years. The chill of the ice cream against her lips was slightly warmer than Hank’s affection, though it would be impossible for anything to achieve the level of Arctic coldness that was Hank’s demeanor. Yet every Tuesday, Susan stopped at the Ice Cream Palace for a vanilla ice cream cone. “Rest in peace, you bastard,” she thought with each lick.

image: DeniseCox

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