Street Stories

Rebecca Bronson


Who would have dreamed of such a thing? A hipster selling donuts. Well, it is Portland, after all and all decency and civil oversight seems to have been washed away by the endless rain and endless sadness that hangs over this city like a ragged tarpaulin. My friend Mei talked about the donuts for days. Promised it would be one of the hi lights of the trip. She’s a sugar junkie. Vegan too, so I’ve noticed they like to fill up on sweets, things loaded with frosting. The lemon custard donut was a fine donut. Not a donut I’ll be remembering for the rest of my life. It was the clean scrubbed interior of the donut shop. The smell of cinnamon and oranges. White tile. And the hipster donut boy stood proud and sweet as maple glaze, boxing up the to go orders and styling the donut case. Now he was worthy of remembrance.


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