Ever Green cemetery, New York
Tall trees casted a blue shadow on desolate and well kept lawns. Chubby squirrels walked around in circles and their small feet tapped on the dry leaves. Streams of wind leaped in the crevices among the hills and blurred the clouds that floated on the silver lake. I liked to place my ears against the cold stones and imagine that the city's noise is a lullaby to the dead who sleep under the ground.
I walked every morning through the winding road on my way to work. Polished marble figures looked at me with glazed eyes when I crossed the garden with a smile on my face. I used to slip my fingers through the slots between the heavy stones in the Mausoleums Avenue. I liked to peek through the grills at the entrances to the graves. A small angel stood in one black tunnel and guarded the dead who lied on the other side of the wall. I used to dream that he quits his eternal shift and carries me on frail wings to a different world.
The smell of frying and the ringing of the church bell used to remind me that I had only a few minutes to cross the path in the garden and get to work. Squeaking brakes, car horns and loud noises used to cut through my ears when I exited the cemetery's gate. In the horizon, the metal towers of the city pricked the sheet that covered the sky. The dying light of Dunkin Donuts sign flickered on the other side of the street.
Everybody starts their journey on one side of the road and ends it on the other side.
I used to open the squeaking doors of the branch in the mornings and turn on the light in the gleaming space. Then I would fill up a machine that was hidden behind the counter with a yellowish-greenish liquid. The machine used to spit up an invisible cloud that emitted the smell of liquorice. A truck carrying a pink logo used to bring supplies each morning to the small branch. A faceless man used to put in the kitchen colorful boxes in which tired beige hoops were crowded. New recipes were printed every day on the joyful boxes and according to them I used to bake colorful sweets.
Glacier Donut - mix in a bowl a light blue powder and a thick liquid from a sealed bottle with a phosphoric green print.
Moonraker Donut - mix in a blender a grainy paste and spread a creme with dim asphalt shade.
Teaser Donut - inject with a syringe a steaming filling and cover with balls that were heated in the microwave.
The clients that came to the branch chose to consume consciously and bravely the poison that I concocted for them. Their faces reminded me of a box of candies that fell into the sink - whereby the different colors mix in the water and create a murky homogeneous hue.
They were pilgrims coming to buy donuts. I was the priest and I preached about the importance of indulging in the pleasures of this life. The colorful wall of sweets behind me was the altar, and when I sanctified them with a blessing "1.30$ please" they looked at me with moist eyes.
When I went out for a break, I spread on myself an expired glazing and my tears dropped on the sweet cream.
One day I took the place of the old lady that used to work in the evenings. the full moon illuminated the familiar path while I walked among the graveyard stones. Suddenly the moon hid behind a fat cloud and I felt damp mud instead of solid ground beneath my feet. I searched for my way back in the darkness.
A tall cracked obelisque stone directed me to a dead-end tunnel. An oriented cross with an image of a young boy on it pointed at a wall covered by a thorny shrub. An old tree with a dedication engraved on it made me think that a mountain is a plane. A rustle of fog emanated from the burial structures. I dragged my feet between the tombstones and read the engraved words with my fingertips.
I lay down on the lake shore and the moon glanced at me cunningly from behind the cloud. In a city where people walk in the streets like rats towards a sticky trap - I had the privilege of being lost and I was happy.
The church bell chimed from the distance. I was late to work.
Ringing bells and the sounds of wings woke me up from my sleep. When I opened my eyes I was in the dark. I stood up and started to dance my way into the thick night air. suddenly A Beam of magenta light appeared behind a tall tree and illuminated a figure that was sitting on the edge of the lake. It was a beautiful marble angel and he devoured a hoop of dough. He licked the sweet glazing and Penetrated his tongue into the hoop's oily hole. crunchy whisper was moving on the face of the water when his tongue clashed the sprinkles. he moaned. and then looked at me.
a river of saliva flushed my mouth and I lost control over my body while my legs carried me towards him with a burst of lust. I walked into the cold lake and the liquid covered me all the way to my nipples. I put a finger in my mouth and found out that it's not water but a sweet corn syrup.
the angel grab my hand and helped me come onto the shore. he was holding me aggressively and his fingers pat the base of my sticky hand.
with a force that seemed unnatural he threw me onto a cool stone and ripped the the clothes off of my body. My dick was hard between my leg like a chocolate Éclair.
out of rustling brown paper bag he extracted a Blueberry Donut and threaded my pole into it slippery round pit. a familiar scream burst out of me - the same scream that the frozen dough makes when it first encounter the boiling oil. I heard a choir singing in the background while he ate my sperm with an appetite.
Gently I laid my head on his chest and then felt his nipples stiffen under my wet hair. I removed his white robe and then stopped to look and to adore the muscles that actuate this magical creature. I went down the line that crossed his abs and I felt him moving under the tip of my tongue. right before I felt the tip of his penis - the corps in the tombs around us woke up. we joined the procession of the skeleton and together we sang:
"You're Dunkin' Always Dunkin' The world Runs on Dunkin' Dunkin' Donuts