half dozen mix

As though movement between leaves
on branches could be illustrated
so gracefully by the hissing and
whistling of changing winds, off
to the right at the end of parallel
lines of monstrous trees is a
doughnut shop convenience store
with a doughnut sculpture of equal
proportion to the branched greenery.
Through the glass doors walk a gentleman
of a husky frame and one of a six foot
skeleton whose narrowness provided
structure for billowing pants and
pocketed dark purple cardigan.

The scent of fried dough rushed
through the nostrils as frosting
oozed off of doughnuts lain on the
metal rack. Both men approach the
register quietly but carefully eye
the display. The cashier approaches
the register after tossing a large
coffee filter in the trash.

Cashier: What I can I get for you?

The two remain silent.

Cashier: Hey, I said what can I
get for you?

The narrow gentleman reaches into
his sports coat pocket and pulls a
small gun and points it at the head
of the cashier who remains frozen
but expresses the same demeanor.

Cashier: I have no money in here.
We’ve just opened for the day.

Narrow: Just give me a fucking
half dozen mix of whatever you
think we’ll eat and hurry up! You
clearly have some baking to do.

The cashier whips a box from under
the register, eyes glued on the
gentleman brandishing the gun.

Cashier: What kind?

Husky: Did you not hear him? Just
put whatever in the box so we can go!

Narrow: Hold the fucking glaze. I said
to get what he thinks I would like
not just whatever.

Husky: Can we not do this here?

Narrow: Don’t jump into my conversations
then, you dumb fat fuck.

Cashier: Please, please, I give you full
dozen for you to stop calling each other
names and using such awful language.

Narrow: Get on with it then!

Husky: Guess it helps to jump into

The narrow gentleman pulls the trigger
and punctures the wall parallel
to the counter.

Narrow: It really doesn’t.


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