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I walked into my local doughnut haunt, Barb’s Bakery, with a mission: to get several chocolate-frosted cake donuts to ring in my 34th birthday. The first disappointment of the day came when I quickly learned that they had sold out of my coveted treats. I settled on some other (and delicious, as I later experienced) fried goods and went to check out. The cashier, the somewhat smarmy chipper and genial guy I dealt with in sporadic meetings over the past year, rang me up and wished me a good day.
The doors were closing and I was almost out of there, almost ready to enjoy the sugary spoils of the day, when I heard something that baffled me:
“Put it down, homey!”
I looked around the parking lot and saw no one. The store had been empty aside from a guy that looked ripped out of…
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