coffee no. 3

Yesterday, when I queued to the checkout in a big shop, I noticed a horribly obese man. He seemed to be very nervous, walking back and forth along the hallway. I started observing him, courious what was the reason of his anxiety. At the first moment I thought that probably he couldn't find his wife or friends, but to my surprise it turned out to be something different. He kept looking towards the stand with ice-creams. After a while the man slowly approached there and lined up a quite long queue. He was nonstop staring through the pane and his eyes were madly jumping from one point to another. The variety of colourful ice-creams was huge, so it must have been very hard to choose two or three balls from about twenty flavours. Everyone knows the gaze of children when they are standing in such a place. Their mouth are full of saliva, and they would buy a hundred-ball-ice-cream if they could. That man behaved identically. Doubtless, ice-creams were a forbidden fruit in his paradise. Or rather a little paradise in his hell, I think.
When a woman standing before him took her cornet, and it came to his turn, he suddenly went off from the counter and started walking nervously, again. It was a real torment for him. He knew that he couldn't afford eating a caloric bomb, but he wanted it so much.
I don't know whether he came back to buy an ice-cream at last, or not.
Poor man in the nightmare-like ice-cream land.