Donuts

The Donut man knows what he does and enjoys doing it. Each and every morning, especially on Sundays, he rises from his tray and gets ready for the day. After a quick glance in the mirror to trim his frosty glaze, he goes downstairs to the bakery to begin his day as Donut man. With his daily shipment of dough, he methodically kneads into his own circular form. An hour in the oven, a careful spray of glaze and the donut is complete. Those donuts rise, awakened, and innocently gaze around at the world. Or more specifically the display case they find themselves in. Wandering in their confined space, they quickly discover the limits of their cage and what this world is about. 9am, opening time. The Donut man flips the open sign and unlocks the door. And soon, it begins. At each open of the display case, you can always hear the tiny donuts singing in unison “DO NUT, DO NUT, DO NUT”. Silly how they always say their own name in two words, the Donut man thinks to himself. With each bell ring of the door, the donuts are scooped up and sold. By the dozen, by the single, the donut man grabs them, puts them in the box, and hands them off. That is what the donut man does, that is what he has always done. Sometimes directly into the hands of the patrons. The faint high pitched song “DO NUT, DO NUT, PLEASE, DO NUT” always brings a smile to the patron’s faces. Yet, the cry ends after the first bite.