It was unseasonably warm and a man was eating an ice cream cone of Breyers Vanilla ice cream. It melted in the summer air.
I saw the man, and I said, “Is that good?”
He looked at me for a moment. “I love ice cream. I could eat it by the ton.”
The trees rustled in the breeze.
“If you ate a ton of ice cream, you’d die. Wouldn’t it be ironic to be killed by the thing you loved?” I said suddenly.
He considered his Breyers ice cream for a moment. “Yes,” he said, “It would.”
We stood for a moment in silence and listened to the faint jangling of the ice cream truck’s bell.
Suddenly, the man was stabbed to death by the CEO of Breyer’s.
I looked at the CEO for a moment. As the ice cream melted on the pavement, I said, “I don’t think that was quite as ironic.”
He looked at me sadly.
The ice cream bell jangled again. Somewhere, an angel got his wings.