Maple bar
I love listening to the old men at the donut shop, jabbering on about nothing in particular, clutching half empty cups over tables glittered with sugar glaze and pastry crumbs, jovially chuckling with the least provocation at each other and the daily foolishness of the world, each taking turns excusing themselves to the little room down the hall in the back, winking and flirting with the young lady behind the glass cabinet filled with sugar coated dreams, warmly fresh from the oven. Soon enough I'll be one of those old men, and be honored to join their ranks.

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