The storefront is dark and bare.
“Damn it,” my wife says, “Resty never said it was closed.”
“Well, I guess your app is behind the times.”
Undeterred, my wife decides to improvise.
“Find best city donuts,” she declares into her phone.
Seconds later, her phone tells us to make a left down some side street. Soon, we’re winding through some suburban neighbourhood at 3 am, past darkened houses and the odd, blue glow of TVs diffused by curtains.
Finally, as homes give way to an industrial park, we find it, wedged between a laundromat and a Salvation Army thrift store.
“Damn it,” my wife says, “Resty never said it was closed.”
“Well, I guess your app is behind the times.”
Undeterred, my wife decides to improvise.
“Find best city donuts,” she declares into her phone.
Seconds later, her phone tells us to make a left down some side street. Soon, we’re winding through some suburban neighbourhood at 3 am, past darkened houses and the odd, blue glow of TVs diffused by curtains.
Finally, as homes give way to an industrial park, we find it, wedged between a laundromat and a Salvation Army thrift store.
