The Ice Cream Eater

The bar was crowded, sardine in a tin style, the mood light and boisterous; drunken laughter constantly wafted the greyish fog that was faithfully replenished by the many that puffed. The smoke hung heavy at least to waist level with visibility down to two heads away at the most. The bar was jam-packed, hot, loud and happy!

Outside it was five degrees and icy, inside anything between 30 and 45, depending on whom was doing the talking!

He came in quietly, nobody heard the door open, nobody gasped with the release of fumes and what should have been the welcome entrance of fresh air. Not a soul remarked or pondered on the sudden blast of cold that accompanied the opening of the front door, all were too busy talking, laughing and enjoying themselves as to be concerned with life outside of the group.

He slunk in, bypassed the squashed jumble at the bar and quietly wormed his way through to the less packed area. Like a magnet to metal he headed straight for the only available seat in the bar, the one beside the jukebox and under the armpit of a very large and hairy Guinness drinker. Without fanfare or notice and under the chins of many a taller rambler he pulled from his pocket a small tub of ice cream, and a plastic spoon. As others around him jostled for arm space, as drinks hung precariously in hands already past the limit he painstakingly peeled off the tin foil top! His tongue hanging out in anticipation he prepared himself mentally for that first sliver of coldness, for that sensation that would change life without return.

Nobody noticed, not a merry drinker would ever have been able to describe or even recall the small man that sat by the jukebox eating ice-cream.

In seeming defiance of the boisterous activity around and above him the man ate slowly; shave by shave with each spoon, putting new light into his soul. As others drank and became louder and unsteady, as pints flowed and drinks spilled the spoon kept up the slow pace until there was nothing left!

He sat for a moment longer, obviously keeping the memory of the ice cream alive and then he just left as quietly as he had come. His departure unnoticed despite the cold air that wafted in and the very slight release of smoke to the outside. The only memory of his ever having been there was the empty tub, the plastic spoon and the tin foil top lying on the little table in the corner. They soon fell to the floor.

Who was he?