I set an alarm for six on a Saturday once, and only for one reason. A coworker wouldn’t stop talking about a bakery that sells out before most people finish their coffee.
I thought she was exaggerating until I saw the line myself, already twenty deep before the doors opened. Georgia mornings rarely move that fast for anyone.
The smell hit before I even parked, sugar and butter drifting across the lot like an invitation. Inside, trays came out steaming, donuts still warm enough to melt glaze on contact…