Listen: there’s a donut shop in my town, a new donut shop. It just opened on friday. Today’s sunday. I haven’t been there.
Preceding the opening I am aware that there was a long-simmering donut mania here. Months ago word of the lot acquisition made a nimble rumor. Now, in the spring of the donut shop’s bud, the local papers run an article a day about the donut, ruminating on what it is. And, donut sales are up, throughout town, at every place that sells them. Roseaur’s is selling donuts. Black cat and butterfly are selling donuts. But at the new donut shop, they are not selling donuts.
I haven’t “seen them at 6:00 am”, but certainly somebody has. This is the time at which the would-be customer has been invited to try to obtain donuts by the donut shop’s window sign, which has just informed them, with the words that no one needed to read, because everybody knows that this building is the exact location of the new donut shop, and that of course the interior would be abandoned and dark at midday, because this new donut shop has inherited a seat of trade that mills the currents of temptation and soft righteousness, and guards the private but famous donut that infuriates the friendly townspeople and resolves them to obtain and then dismiss with weak praise the donut that excludes them, has just told them again that they are sold out.
The new donut shop sold out of donuts at ten-thirty am opening day and seven-thirty am the next day and the day after that they did not ever open, nor will they open tomorrow, for they are retooling. The demand has been too much: for the suppliers, who are driven from their station before lunchtime by the force of emptiness, and for the demanders, sequestered from the hive in their own town. Perhaps someone has tried to communicate with the donut shop, perhaps someone has made a sign for the window facing in.
I am aware that there has not been a standalone donut shop in my town for quite a few years. I will tell you something about myself now: I am an inattentivarian, and I have no memory for bites of food. I can eat anything but I cannot care. Food is a vessel for light, water, and life, but I do not have shelf for these things. I am aware that there has not been a standalone donut shop in my town for quite a few years because of the attempt at conversation currently taking place in my town: speculative news articles, donuts only by hearsay and research, and the sense of terminus. It is not a pleasant conversation. There is no outlet that is not an improper response to the opening of a donut shop besides the eating of donuts. But this shop is not selling donuts. My townspeople and I have no prescription to recourse. I am eating this expression of unease. Others are grumbling.
Missoula News/Independent Publishing |
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