Glendora, CA (The Donut Man) | 11-14-09
So many memories of myself and others become attached to the places. So many late-night jaunts began or ended at Donut Man. Whether we made a trip three-cars-deep or I rolled solo, it was always a good time.
Things have changed over the years of course. There’s no longer an empty lot with weeds peaking through the cracks in the cement or wild rabbits hopping about behind the store. A gym has been erected next door, where there was once a place we didn’t give two shits to remember what it was. Even the employees have changed. They are now stationed at the order window welcoming customers – we don’t have to knock on the employee entrance on the side of the building to awake them from their slumber atop giant bags of flour in the back room. The employees are even courteous and timely with their service now, and only sell us donuts, because former employees were inclined to offer us weed.
It can’t be the memories. Maybe my friends were wondering the same when we all got excited (salivating) at the thought of a Donut Man run. Once you have the privilege of feasting on one of their specialty donuts, once you’ve licked the dots of cream cheese frosting off their pumpkin pie donut, once you’ve tasted their seasonal strawberry or peach donuts, once you feel a warm chunk of apple, cinnamon, and raisin from a fritter going down your throat… you realize it’s not the memories, it’s the donuts.