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To some, the glow of the moon inspires. A glowing sunset beckons along the beach then fades slowly into the night. So starts my obsession to find the holey grail – the perfect doughnut. Not just glazed, or sprinkled or custard-filled, but the best. For me, it’s the neon moon – the yellow-orange, heart-stopping-full-of-love-and-warmth beacon that cries “HOT NOW” wrapped around those savory words, “Krispy Kreme”. THE electric moon. The siren song of pulsing neon. The lady of the evening calling, “Hey sailor!” – hanging, winking at the vulnerable passing by. It grips the lobes of the brain like the talon-gripped digits of a Yankee tourist on a Paula Deen pork chop. There are other kingdoms our city, Savannah, Georgia. Other vistas of white, sugar-glazed ridges… of golden brown islands floating in a sea of grease… of golden maple plains that crank a glucometer like a tac on a 450 supercharged engine. The best of the best… if there is such a thing to be found. Yes, Krispy Kreme is king. Later in the evening with the after-glow of heartburn, a Tums or two comforts as I’m tucked into my warm bed, visions of floating circles in mirror-rippled grease. My grin is steadfast. I fade into peaceful slumber.
But I awake… all a dream. Gluten intolerant. I cry myself back to sleep.