Growing up I have learned to appreciate and cherish the community value of the comfort and grandeur that is the local donut shop.

It was a rainy summer Wednesday when I was reminded of how special a place like this can be. I woke up early before heading to clinic and something inside of me told me I needed to have a donut today (this happens quite often). I headed over to the Artesia Donut House, chatted with the owners about my family and finishing school, and got my chocolate glazed donut and medium coffee. As I was capping my coffee cup, a little boy who must have been about 10 years old walks in with red chuck taylors and a football with “MIKE” written across it in big black sharpie. I smile at him and he says “I like your shoes. My mom would really like them too.” I smile again saying thank you and think about how freaking cute this kid is. Then right before I head out he tells me, “I’ve been getting donuts from here ever since I was little and eating real foods!” The owners look at him then look at me and I say, “No way! Me too! This place is the best!” He nods at me then runs off down the street. For the rest of the day all I could think about was the image of red skipping across wet sidewalk, and I couldn’t help but smile again.