I am on the one finger typing machine today. Man this keyboard is tiny and I have small hands for a guy.
I did a little correction on your formatting above, sir.
The two small towns where I grew up--alongside the Platte River and then in the middle of the Sandhills--each had three drug-stores (they were the same-sized towns, circa 3,000 each), and all three drug-stores had soda-fountains.
Every so often, a couple of strange men from out of town, but who knew my parents, would take my younger brother and me to have root-beer floats. This probably happened about four or five times a year, from when I was four until I was eleven. They weren't always the same men; in fact, most of the time they were different.
I thought they were just being nice guys, but they were actually professionals in the hearing business coming to observe me--apparently I was a phenomenon--and I wasn't going anywhere without the younger brother, so he was always taken along too.
I don't remember how much those root-beer floats cost at the time.
By the time we moved to the Sandhills, such nonsense had stopped, but that was far along in development of the drive-ins and fast-food places, and so those memories are of A & W Root Beer Floats served in frosted mugs by a car-hop.
Born without a sweet-tooth, candy stores never had an appeal for me. In fact, as a little lad, when accompanied to the movie-theatre by an older sister, I brought along celery, and bought only popcorn at the concession-stand.