Dear Wigleaf,
 
We stop for donuts every day, even if we're not hungry (but we usually are). Sometimes the man behind the counter has bandages on his fingers. I wonder if he moonlights as a butcher. I doubt it. He's probably a drunk, and he cuts his fingers on broken bottles when he's sitting at home watching Chuck Norris films. That's mean. I shouldn't think that. It's not like I'm any better. I don't drink (much), but that doesn't make me special. It just makes me boring. Sometimes I wonder what the man behind the counter would think of me if I tried to buy a donut with a bandage on my finger. I wonder if he'd think I'm a drunk too, and that we might hang out sometime. Nah. He'd probably just wonder if I have enough money to buy the donut. I fucking hate that guy. I think we need to find a new morning store, but the quality of donut might suffer. It's no fun being stuck.
 
Dammit,
 
Mel Bosworth