Donuts are totally unpesachdik, but since I dropped my parents at the airport before six in the morning, I am eating a jam-filled from Gail Ann's. Outside the construction assembles with rumbles and beeps, but I am eating a fried object the size of a saucer and functionally indistinguishable from pączki. It covered me with granulated sugar instantaneously. The sunrise came up in gilt tissue and lavender and the fluorescent stipple of the windows of dawn-drowned trains.
[edit] No photographic evidence of the donut survived, only the smile on the face of the tiger.
[edit] No photographic evidence of the donut survived, only the smile on the face of the tiger.
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