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 bedecked with sugar glaze and cookie crumbs, 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, smiling and winking at the young lady that stands behind a glass cabinet that brims with sugar coated dreams, fresh from the oven. Soon enough I'll be one of them, honored to join their ranks.

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