Montana Bound, Part 2.
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Read part one here
The coffee begins to take effect and I begin to think more logically. My two previous breakfast plans have failed so I resolve to make the half-mile trek to Dunkin'. Those in the know only use half the name. I grab my keys, watch, driver's license, ATM card and cash. I haven't carried a wallet since before the war. After putting on my watch and folding a small stack of bills around my cards I try to put them in my pocket. I'm not wearing pants. There's a pair of jeans in a ball next to my bed. I can't smell them from more than two feet away so they must be clean enough to wear again. My 'oh-so-comfortable' Airwalks are next to the jeans. I slip into them and head out. Sans socks.
My garage door creeps open to reveal suburbia cloaked in darkness. A blanket of sprinkler spray covers half the lawns in the neighborhood. When the sun comes up you'll be able to tell which houses don't have sprinkler systems. They're the one's without grass. Eight miles from Sea World, three stop signs from donuts, Phil Collins is on the radio. I turn it off.
There's a whole heapin' assload of people buying donuts this morning. The drive-through line wraps around the corner, the parking lot is full. I have to park next door at Rajid's Furniture Warehouse. His store doesn't open for another 4 hours so I don't think he'll mind. As I'm waiting in line like a good little automaton someone comes out from the back room, hands a bag to the cashier, looks at me, winks and goes back whence he came. The cashier is an attractive girl. About 19. Light brown hair pulled into a pony tail through the back of her hat, a little powdered sugar on her cheek. She points at me and holds the bag up. I piss off a store full of people by walking up the counter and asking, "Is this for me?"
She nods shyly and looks down at her hands. While I'm waiting for some sort of explanation she says, "Next."
Everyone seems a little confused. The next person in line hesitates so I seize the opportunity to request a large coffee to go with the donuts. The cashier, Amy, according to her nametag, tells me, without making eye contact, that I don't have time for coffee.
There's a Circle K across the street. I can get coffee there. Circle K? I thought they had all closed or been renamed. Today has been strange enough without worrying about convenience store monikers. Traffic is light, which makes crossing the street uneventful. Just to the right side of the door, past the newspapers, is a Tron machine. I don't have any quarters. I get my coffee, take it to the front of the store and hand the clerk a dollar. He hands me four pennies, which I immediately drop into a cup sitting next to the register. I think it's for a charity but I stopped reading cups several years ago. But I do notice the sign next to the cup.
"You must have been born on or before today's date 1983 to purchase tobacco products."
That reminds me to get my phone number changed when I get home. Damn kids.
I figure the short drive home will afford me enough time to munch a maple. Upon opening the bag I find not five, but two maples and what appears to be a lemon filled. I'm almost pissed enough to turn around and complain. I might have, had I actually paid for these donuts. It was ridiculous to expect my order to be in that bag anyway. Maybe there's something not quite right with these. Why were they already bagged before I got to the store? Why did I not have to pay? Why couldn't I get coffee? Who thought chocolate frosting and lemon filling would be a good idea? There were enough questions to make a rational man leery about the safety of his enigmatically acquired foodstuffs. I, however, was a hungry man. I smelled the donut, nothing unusual, and took a bite. It was a bit stale. How do you manage to get stale donuts before sunrise? Especially when you phoned in the order 20 minutes earlier and they were obviously not prepared with the usual batch. To drive the questions from my mind I turn to the radio. As if a cup of coffee between my legs, a donut in my hand, and a manual transmission weren't challenging enough, I try to find music on early morning radio. Four seconds later I find Neil Diamond, who was in Saving Silverman with R. Lee Ermey who was in Full Metal Jacket with Vincent D'Onofrio who was in JFK with Kevin Bacon. Sweet Caroline.
After pulling into the garage and pushing the magic button which makes the door close I sit in the car for a few moments waiting for the song to end, finishing my first donut, and sipping from a piping hot cup o' joe. This could only be better if Claire Danes were hand feeding me or if I were still asleep and it was all just a delicious dream.
Bo Holguin dreams about donuts and Claire Danes, <i>just like we do</i>!