He said as much to Rickey, who turned to glare at the bartender. “Raspberry Dreamsicle? I’d like to tell him where to stick his f*****g Dreamsicle.”
“Now, now. He’s young, he wants to make his mark on the world just like you did.”
“Just like I did, hell. I got my gimmick, sure, but I don’t pervert my food in order to incorporate it. I just don’t think Bourbon Street crap like that has any place at the Sazerac. If that’s what they want, let ’em go drink a Hand Grenade or one of those glow-in-the-dark daiquiris.”
“Calm down. I don’t see people lining up here to order Raspberry Dreamsicles, do you?”
After a grudging glance around the bar, Rickey shook his head. “Nah, you mostly get the better class of tourist in here.”
Lenny laughed; he couldn’t help it. “You’re turning into an old man!
