Like a ghost in the early morning fog, donut boy made his way to that office he knew so well. He could recite the number off the top of his head: 31A-216. That was the location where, like so many times before, he was to deliver the precious cargo. Two dozen of Ray LaMar's finest. As predicted, no one was there when he made his delivery. Jeff knew from the early hours he was accustomed to working that there rarely was anyone in the building at 7:00 am, yet the fact that it was donut Friday sometimes motivated folks like JP, the usual resident at that office, to arrive earlier than their usual 7:15 on the off chance the pastries would be there early… or just to drink coffee and await the arrival of the donuts. Not today. It took 3 seconds for Mr. Allen to deliver his precious cargo and vanish into the bowels of 31A. Mission accomplished he thought to himself as he went on to do his day job.
While I have your attention (or assuming I have not already lost it with feeble my dabbling into novel writing), an administrative matter. As many of you know, I will be leaving the country for five weeks starting next Thursday. I have entrusted the sacred mission of re-chartering the donut club (which occurs while I'm out) to Mr. Ed Stocker. I would ask that you please remove the junk mail rules I know some of you have in place to automatically delete Ed's e-mails so you don't miss-out on important Friday Donut Club notices that are sure to come from Ed starting next Friday.