My best guess is that Los Angeles hands out its popsicle man contract to a single vendor with the caveat that they are required to serve the entire city, not just the profitable bits. That way every kid can get a fudgecicle on a sunny day.
That's the only way I can explain what I saw in the neighborhood south of Pico, near Little Ethiopia, where Mo' Betta Meaty Meat Burgers used to be.
Now if you don't know the area, there are a whole bunch of really cool houses dating back to around the time the movie Snow White came out, many with whimsical little turrets and minarets like little fairy tale castles. It's a pleasant neighborhood to walk around for an afternoon.
North of Pico, that is.
Immediately South, the lawns grow knee high, bars appear on windows, and the walkability declines... significantly. Mortally, perhaps. But there are houses there that could conceivably house children. So the Ice Cream must flow.
And one day in July, I saw what was clearly an Ice Cream truck, but with steel grill plates welded over all the windows with a little slot cut out with a torch that could theoretically be used to pass an ice cream sandwich through. That is, were it not weaving along at 45 miles an hour (playing its jolly tune as stipulated in the contract), then careening around a corner on two wheels to high tail it out of there.
It was the missing scene from Mad Max. The ice cream man of the apocolypse.
10 years later, I'm starting to doubt whether I really saw it.
But I did.