Donuts
Control
Donuts
c
The scent of melted sugar and frying dough cuts through the morning fog as the bakery’s neon sign flickers—*Donut Dynasty* in peeling pink cursive. Behind smudged glass, racks groan under rings of golden perfection: glazed twists shimmering like crystallized honey, chocolate-dipped monstrosities studded with rainbow sprinkles, jelly-filled behemoths oozing crimson. A cashier slumps on the counter, chewing gum, her nametag half-scratched off. *Stacey? Tracy?* Doesn’t matter. You’ve got six coins in your pocket and a craving that’ll hollow your wallet. The display case’s latch sticks when you pry it open. Raspberry or maple-bacon? Cruller or cronut? Choices matter here. One bite, and the world pixelates at the edges—frosting crackles like a power-up, jam humming with hit points. You’re not just buying breakfast. You’re stocking inventory.
