A Box of Donuts

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been going to the store to buy donuts. I buy the pre-packaged donuts. I show up almost every Thursday at the exact same time each week. Each week I see the same chap walking out with donuts, as I walk in to buy my donuts. Occasionally we share a few comments. Often our exchange sounds like this: Me: “Hi, any good donuts today?” Other gentleman: “Yes, but there aren’t any left.”


Last week, I arrived earlier than normal, and I found that the donut selection was much better. Instead of finding the normal boxful of cake donuts, I found an assortment of many different pastries, including cinnamon rolls. I scooped up the box, and purchased them. On my way out of the store, I walked past the gent on his way in. He shot me a strange glance, and the exchange was as follows: Gentleman: “Hi, any good donuts today?” Me: “Yes, but there aren’t any left.”



Today, I didn’t arrive early, and I met the gent on his way out of the store, faithfully holding his box of donuts. He looked at me, I looked at him, and for a few moments we shared an awkward stare. He broke the silence by saying “I fought in Vietnam; once, I killed a guy that tried to steal my breakfast. I really like donuts for breakfast.” I looked at him, and then replied: “I don’t like waking up early anyway." He smiled and walked away. I think I'm going to wear a mask to the store next week.